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(MARY  N.  MURFREE.) 


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HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY, 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  WITCH-FACE 
MOUNTAIN 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


BY 


CHARLES  EGBERT  CRADDOCK, 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 
flrticrsi&e  prc^j 
1895 


MIS' 


Copyright,  1895, 
Br  MARY  N.  MUKFKEE. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  V.  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Hougbton  &  Co. 


CONTENTS. 


*  THE  MYSTERY  OF  WITCH-FACE  MOUNTAIN  .  .  1 
TAKING  THE  BLUE  RIBBON  AT  THE  COUNTY  FAIR  165 
THE  CASTING  VOTE  .  .  200 


THE    MYSTERY  OF  WITCH-FACE 
MOUNTAIN. 

I. 

THE  beetling  crags  that  hang  here  and  there 
above  the  gorge  hold  in  their  rugged  rock  sculp- 
ture no  facial  similitudes,  no  suggestions.  The 
jagged  outlines  of  shelving  bluffs  delineate  no 
gigantic  profile  against  the  sky  beyond.  One 
might  seek  far  and  near,  and  scan  the  vast  slope 
with  alert  and  expectant  gaze,  and  view  naught 
of  the  semblance  that  from  time  immemorial 
has  given  the  mountain  its  name.  Yet  the  im- 
agination needs  but  scant  aid  when  suddenly 
the  elusive  simulacrum  is  revealed  to  the  eye. 
In  a  certain  slant  of  the  diurnal  light,  even  on 
bright  nights  at  the  full  of  the  moon,  some- 
times in  the  uncanny  electric  flicker  smitten 
from  a  storm-cloud,  a  gigantic  peaked  sinister 
face  is  limned  on  the  bare,  sandy  slope,  so  defi- 
nite, with  such  fixity  of  lineament,  that  one  is 
amazed  that  the  perception  of  it  came  no  ear- 
lier, and  is  startled  when  it  disappears. 

Disappearing  as  completely  as  a  fancy,  few 
there  are  who  have  ever  seen  it  who  have  not 


2     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

climbed  from  the  herder's  trail  across  the  nar- 
row wayside  stream  and  up  the  rugged  moun- 
tain slopes  to  the  spot  where  it  became  visible. 
There  disappointment  awaits  the  explorer.  One 
finds  a  bare  and  sterile  space,  from  which  the 
hardy  chickweed  can  scarcely  gain  the  sus- 
tenance for  timorous  sproutings ;  a  few  out- 
cropping rocks ;  a  series  of  transverse  gullies 
here  and  there,  washed  down  to  deep  indenta- 
tions ;  above  the  whole  a  stretch  of  burnt,  broken 
timber  that  goes  by  the  name  of  "fire-scald," 
and  is  a  relic  of  the  fury  of  the  fire  which  was 
"set  out"  in  the  woods  with  the  mission  to 
burn  only  the  leaves  and  undergrowth,  and 
which,  in  its  undisciplined  strength,  transcended 
its  instructions,  as  it  were,  and  destroyed  great 
trees.  And  this  is  all.  But  once  more,  at  a 
coigne  of  vantage  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
gorge,  and  the  experience  can  be  utilized  in 
differentiating  the  elements  that  go  to  make  up 
the  weird  presentment  of  a  human  countenance. 
It  is  the  fire-scald  that  suggests  the  great  peaked 
brown  hood;  the  oblong  sandy  stretch  forms  the 
pallid  face ;  the  ledges  outline  the  nose  and 
chin  and  brow ;  the  eyes  look  out  from  the  deep 
indentations  where  the  slope  is  washed  by  the 
currents  of  the  winter  rains;  and  here  and 
there  the  gullies  draw  heavy  lines  and  wrinkles. 
And  when  the  wind  is  fresh  and  the  clouds  scud 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     3 

before  it,  in  the  motion  of  their  shadows  the 
face  will  seem  to  mow  at  the  observer,  until  the 
belief  comes  very  readily  that  it  is  the  exact 
counterpart  of  a  witch's  face. 

Always  the  likeness  is  pointed  out  and  in- 
sisted on  by  the  denizens  of  Witch-Face  Moun- 
tain, as  if  they  had  had  long  and  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  that  sort  of  unhallowed  gentry, 
and  were  especially  qualified  to  pronounce  upon 
the  resemblance. 

"Ain't  it  jes'  like  'em,  now?  Ain't  it  the 
very  moral  of  a  witch  ? "  Constant  Hite  de- 
manded, one  gusty  day,  when  the  shadows  were 
a-flicker  in  the  sun,  and  the  face  seemed  ani- 
mated by  the  malice  of  mockery  or  mirth,  as  he 
pointed  it  out  to  his  companion  with  a  sort  of 
triumph  in  its  splenetic  contortions. 

He  was  a  big,  bluff  fellow,  to  whose  pride  all 
that  befell  him  seemed  to  minister.  He  was 
proud  of  his  length  of  limb,  and  his  hundred  and 
eighty  pounds  of  weight,  and  yet  his  slim  ap- 
pearance. "  Ye  would  n't  believe  it  now,  would 
ye  ? "  he  was  wont  to  say  when  he  stepped  off 
the  scales  at  the  store  of  the  hamlet  down 
in  the  Cove.  "It's  solid  meat  an'  bone  an' 
muscle,  my  boy.  Keep  on  the  friendly  side  of 
one  hunderd  an'  eighty,"  with  a  challenging 
wink.  He  was  proud  of  his  bright  brown  eyes, 
and  his  dark  hair  and  mustache,  and  smiling, 


4     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

handsome  face,  and  his  popularity  among  the 
class  that  he  was  pleased  to  denominate  "  gal 
critters."  He  piqued  himself  upon  his  several 
endowments  as  a  hardy  woodsman,  his  endur- 
ance, his  sylvan  craft,  his  pluck,  and  his  luck 
and  his  accurate  aim.  The  buck  —  all  gray 
and  antlered,  for  it  was  August  —  that  hung 
across  the  horse,  behind  the  saddle,  gave  token 
of  this  keen  exactitude  in  the  tiny  wound  at  the 
base  of  the  ear,  where  the  rifle-ball  had  entered 
to  pierce  the  brain  ;  it  might  seem  to  the  inex- 
pert that  death  had  come  rather  from  the  gap- 
ing knife-stroke  across  the  throat,  which  was, 
however,  a  mere  matter  of  butcher-craft.  He 
was  proud  of  the  good  strong  bay  horse  that  he 
rode,  which  so  easily  carried  double,  and  proud 
of  his  big  boots  and  long  spurs ;  and  he  scorned 
flimsy  town  clothes,  and  thought  that  good  home- 
woven  blue  jeans  was  the  gear  in  which  a  man 
who  was  a  man  should  clothe  himself  withal. 
He  glanced  more  than  once  at  the  different  tog- 
gery of  his  companion,  evidently  a  man  of  cities, 
whom  he  had  chanced  to  meet  by  the  wayside, 
and  with  whom  he  had  journeyed  more  than  a 
mile. 

He  had  paused  again  and  again  to  point  out 
the  "  witch-face  "  to  the  stranger,  who  at  first 
could  not  discern  it  at  all,  and  then  when  it 
suddenly  broke  upon  him  could  not  be  wiled 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     5 

away  from  it.  He  dismounted,  hitching  his 
horse  to  a  sapling,  and  up  and  down  he  patrolled 
the  rocky  mountain  path  to  study  the  face  at 
various  angles;  Constant  Hite  looking  on  the 
while  with  an  important  placid  satisfaction,  as 
if  he  had  invented  the  illusion. 

"  Some  folks,  though,  can't  abide  sech  ez 
witches,"  he  said,  with  a  tolerant  smile,  as  if  he 
were  able  to  defy  their  malevolence  and  make 
light  of  it.  "Ye  see  that  cabin  on  the  spur 
over  yander  around  the  bend?"  It  looked 
very  small  and  solitary  from  this  height,  and 
the  rail  fences  about  its  scanty  inclosures  hardly 
reached  the  dignity  of  suggesting  jackstraws. 
"  Waal,  the  Hanways  over  thar  hev  a  full  view 
of  the  old  witch  enny  time  she  will  show  up  at 
all.  Folks  in  the  mountings  'low  the  day  be 
onlucky  when  she  appears  on  the  slope  thar. 
The  old  folks  at  Hanway's  will  talk  'bout  it 
cornsider'ble  ef  ye  set  'em  goin' ;  they  hey  seen 
thar  time,  an'  it  rests  'em  some  ter  tell  'bout'n 
the  spites  they  hev  hed  that  they  lay  ter  the 
witch-face." 

The  ugly  fascination  of  the  witch-face  had 
laid  hold,  too,  on  the  stranger.  Twice  he  had 
sought  to  photograph  it,  and  Constant  Hite 
had  watched  him  with  an  air  of  lenient  indul- 
gence to  folly  as  he  pottered  about,  now  adjust- 
ing his  camera,  now  changing  his  place  anew. 


6     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  And  I  believe  I  have  got  the  whole  amount 
of  nothing  at  all,"  he  said  at  last,  looking  up 
breathlessly  at  the  mountaineer.  Albeit  the 
wind  was  fresh  and  the  altitude  great,  the  sun 
was  hot  on  the  unshaded  red  clay  path,  and  the 
nimble  gyrations  of  the  would-be  artist  brought 
plentiful  drops  to  his  brow.  He  took  off  his 
straw  hat,  and  mopped  his  forehead  with  his 
handkerchief,  while  he  stared  wistfully  at  the 
siren  of  his  fancy,  grimacing  maliciously  at  him 
from  the  slope  above.  "  If  the  confounded  old 
woman  would  hold  still,  and  not  disappear  so 
suddenly  at  the  wrong  minute,  I  'd  have  had  her 
charming  physiognomy  all  correct.  I  believe 
I've  spoiled  my  plates,  —  that's  all."  And 
once  more  he  mopped  his  bedewed  forehead. 

He  was  a  man  of  thirty-five,  perhaps,  of  the 
type  that  will  never  look  old  or  grow  percepti- 
bly gray.  His  hair  was  red  and  straight,  and 
cut  close  to  his  head.  He  had  a  long  mustache 
of  the  same  sanguine  tint.  The  sun  had  brought 
the  blood  near  the  surface  of  his  thin  skin, 
and  he  looked  hot  and  red,  and  thoroughly  ex- 
asperated. His  brown  eyes  were  disproportion- 
ately angry,  considering  the  slight  importance 
of  his  enterprise.  He  was  evidently  a  man 
of  keen,  quick  temper,  easily  aroused  and  ner- 
vous. His  handsome,  well-groomed  horse  was 
fractious,  and  difficult  for  so  impatient  a  rider 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     7 

to  control.  His  equestrian  outfit  once  more 
attracted  the  covert  glance  of  Con  Hite,  whose 
experience  and  observation  could  duplicate  no 
such  attire.  He  was  tall,  somewhat  heavily  built, 
and  altogether  a  sufficiently  stalwart  specimen 
of  the  genus  "  town  man." 

"  1 11  tell  you  what  I  '11  do  !  "  he  exclaimed 
suddenly.  "  I  '11  sketch  the  whole  scene  !  " 

"  Now  you  're  shoutin',"  said  Con  Hite 
capably,  as  if  he  had  always  advocated  this 
method  of  solving  the  difficulty.  His  interlocu- 
tor could  not  for  a  moment  have  dreamed  that 
he  had  never  before  seen  a  camera,  had  never 
heard  of  a  photograph,  had  not  the  least  idea  of 
what  the  process  of  sketching  might  be  which 
he  so  boldly  approved ;  nay,  the  very  phrase 
embodying  his  encouragement  of  the  project 
was  foreign  to  his  vocabulary,  —  a  bit  of  sophis- 
ticated slang  which  he  had  adopted  from  his 
companion's  conversation,  and  readily  assimi- 
lated. 

"  You  stay  just  where  you  are ! "  cried  the 
stranger,  his  enthusiasm  rising  to  the  occasion  ; 
"  just  that  pose,  —  that  pose  precisely." 

He  ran  swiftly  across  the  path  to  remove  the 
inefficient  camera  from  the  foreground,  and  in  a 
moment  was  seated  on  a  log  by  the  wayside,  his 
quick  eye  scanning  the  scene :  the  close  file  of 
the  ranges  about  the  horizon,  one  showing  above 


8     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

another,  and  one  more  faintly  blue  than  another, 
for  thus  the  distance  was  denned;  then  the 
amphitheatre  of  the  Cove,  the  heavy  bronze- 
green  slopes  of  the  mountains,  all  with  ripple 
marks  of  clear  chrome-green  ruffling  in  the 
wake  of  the  wind;  in  the  middle  distance  the 
still  depths  of  the  valley  below,  with  shadows 
all  a-slumber  and  silent,  and  on  the  projecting 
spur  the  quiet,  lonely  little  house,  so  slight  a 
suggestion  of  the  presence  of  man  amidst  the 
majestic  dominance  of  nature ;  here,  to  the 
right,  across  the  savage  gorge,  with  its  cliffs 
and  with  its  currents  in  the  deep  trough,  the 
nearest  slope  of  the  mountain,  with  the  great 
gaunt  bare  space  showing  that  face  of  ill  omen, 
sibylline,  sinister,  definite  indeed,  —  he  won- 
dered how  his  eyes  were  holden  that  he  should 
not  have  discerned  it  at  once  ;  and  in  the  imme- 
diate foreground  the  equestrian  figure  of  the 
mountaineer,  booted  and  spurred,  the  very 
"  moral,"  as  Hite  would  have  called  it,  of  an 
athlete,  with  his  fine  erect  pose  distinct  against 
the  hazy  perspective,  his  expression  of  confident 
force,  the  details  of  his  handsome  features  re- 
vealed by  the  brim  of  his  wide  black  hat  turned 
up  in  front. 

"It 's  a  big  subject,  I  know ;  I  can't  get  it  all 
in.  I  shall  only  suggest  it.  Just  keep  that 
pose,  will  you  ?  Hold  the  horse  still.  '  Stand 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     9 

the  storm,  it  won't  be  long !  '  "  the  artist  said, 
smiling  with  renewed  satisfaction  as  his  pencil, 
not  all  inapt,  went  briskly  to  work  on  the  hori- 
zontal lines  of  the  background. 

But  it  was  longer  than  he  had  thought,  so 
still  sat  the  contemplative  mountaineer,  so  allur- 
ing were  the  details  of  the  landscape.  The 
enthusiasm  of  the  amateur  is  always  a  more 
urgent  motive  power  than  the  restrained  and 
utilitarian  industry  of  the  professional. 

Few  sworn  knights  of  the  crayon  would  have 
sat  sketching  so  long  in  that  temperature  as  he 
did,  with  the  sun  blazing  through  his  straw  hat 
and  his  blood  mustering  under  his  thin  skin ; 
but  he  stopped  at  a  point  short  of  sunstroke, 
and  it  was  with  a  tumultuous  sense  of  success 
that  he  at  last  arose,  and,  with  the  sketch-book 
still  open,  walked  across  the  road  and  laid  it 
on  the  pommel  of  the  mountaineer's  saddle. 

Constant  Hite  took  it  up  suspiciously  and 
looked  at  it  askance.  It  is  to  be  doubted  if 
ever  before  he  had  seen  a  picture,  unless  per- 
chance in  the  primary  reading-book  of  his 
callow  days  at  the  public  school,  spasmodically 
opened  at  intervals  at  the  "  church  house  "  in 
the  Cove.  He  continued  to  gravely  gaze  at  the 
sketch,  held  sideways  and  almost  reversed,  for 
some  moments. 

"  Bless  Gawd !  hyar  's  Whitefoot's  muzzle  jes' 


10     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

ez  nat'ral  —  an'  Me  —  waal,  sir  !  don't  /  look 
proud !  "  he  cried  suddenly,  with  a  note  of  such 
succulent  vanity,  so  finely  flavored  a  pride,  that 
the  stranger  could  but  laugh  at  the  zest  of  his 
triumph. 

"  Do  you  see  the  witch-face  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Hesh !  hesh !  "  cried  the  mountaineer  hila- 
riously. "  Don't  'sturb  me  'bout  yer  witch-face. 
Ef  thar  ain't  the  buck,  —  yes,  toler'ble  fat,  — 
an'  with  all  his  horns!  An'  look  at  my  boot, 
—  actially  the  spur  on  it !  An'  my  hat  turned 
up;  "  he  raised  his  flattered  hand  to  the  brim  as 
if  to  verify  its  position. 

"  You  did  n't  know  you  were  so  good  looking, 
hey  ?  "  suggested  the  amused  town  man. 

"  My  Lord,  naw !  "  declared  Hite,  laughing 
at  himself,  yet  laughing  delightedly.  "  I  dunno 
how  the  gals  make  out  to  do  without  me  at 
all!" 

The  pleased  artist  laughed,  too.  "Well, 
hand  it  over,"  he  said,  as  he  reached  out  for  the 
book.  "We  must  be  getting  out  of  this  sun. 
I  'm  not  used  to  it,  you  see." 

He  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  as  he  spoke, 
and  as  he  swung  himself  into  the  saddle  the 
mountaineer  reluctantly  closed  and  relinquished 
the  book.  "  I  'd  like  ter  see  it  agin,  some  time 
or  other,"  he  observed. 

He  remembered  this  wish  afterward,  and  how 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     11 

little  he  then  imagined  where  and  in  what  man- 
ner he  was  destined  to  see  it  again. 

They  rode  on  together  into  the  dense  woods, 
leaving  the  wind  and  the  sunshine  and  the  flying 
clouds  fluctuating  over  the  broad  expanse  of  the 
mountains,  and  the  witch-face  silently  mowing 
and  grimacing  at  the  world  below,  albeit  seen  by 
no  human  being  except  perchance  some  dweller 
at  the  little  house  on  the  spur,  struck  aghast 
by  this  unwelcome  apparition  evoked  by  the  ne- 
cromancy of  the  breeze  and  the  sheen  and  the 
shadow,  marking  this  as  an  unlucky  day. 

"  That 's  right  smart  o'  a  cur'osity,  ain't  it  ?  " 
said  Constant  Hite  complacently,  as  they  jogged 
along.  "  When  the  last  gover'mint  survey  fel- 
lers went  through  hyar,  they  war  plumb  smitten 
by  the  ole  'oman,  an'  spent  cornsider'ble  time 
a-stare-gazin'  at  her.  They  'lowed  they  hed  never 
seen  the  beat." 

"  What  was  the  survey  for  ?  "  asked  the  town 
man,  with  keen  mundane  interest. 

Constant  Hite  was  rarely  at  a  loss.  When 
other  men  were  fain  to  come  to  a  pause  for  the 
lack  of  information,  the  resources  of  his  agile 
substitutions  and  speculations  were  made  mani- 
fest. "  They  war  jes'  runnin'  a  few  lines  hyar 
an'  thar,"  he  said  negligently.  "  They  lef 
some  tall  striped  poles  "planted  in  the  ground, 
red  an'  sich  colors,  ter  mark  the  way  ;  an'  them 


12     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

mounting  folks  over  yander  in  the  furderest 
coves,  —  they  air  powerful  ahint  the  times,  — 
they  hed  never  hearn  o'  sech  ez  a  survey,  noway, 
an'  the  poles  jes'  'peared  ter  them  sprung  up 
thar  like  Jonah's  gourd  in  a  single  night,  ez  ef 
they  kem  from  seed ;  an'  the  folks,  they  'lowed 
't  war  the  sign  o'  a  new  war."  He  laughed 
lazily  at  the  uninstructed  terrors  of  the  unso- 
phisticated denizens  of  the  "  furderest  coves." 
"  They  'd  gather  around  an'  stare-gaze  at  the 
poles,  an'  wonder  if  they  'd  hev  ter  fight  the 
Rebs  agin ;  them  folks  is  mos  'ly  Union." 
Then  his  interest  in  the  subject  quickening, 
"  Them  survey  fellers,  they  ondertook,  too,  ter 
medjure  the  tallness  o'  some  o'  the  mountings 
fur  the  gover'mint.  Now  what  good  is  that 
goin'  ter  do  the  Nunited  States  ?  "  he  resumed 
grudgingly.  "  The  mountings  kin  be  medjured 
by  the  eye,  —  look  a-yander."  He  pointed  with 
the  end  of  his  whip  at  a  section  of  the  horizon, 
visible  between  the  fringed  and  low-swaying 
boughs  of  hemlock  and  fir  as  the  trail  swept 
closer  to  the  verge  of  the  range,  on  which  was 
softly  painted,  as  on  ivory  and  with  an  enameled 
lustre,  two  or  three  great  azure  domes,  with 
here  and  there  the  high  white  clouds  of  a  clear 
day  nestling  flakelike  on  the  summits.  "  They 
air  jes'  all-fired  high,,  an'  that 's  all.  Do  it 
make  'em  seem  enny  taller  ter  say  they  air  six 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     13 

thousand  or  seben  thousand  feet?  Man  ain't 
used  ter  medjurin'  by  the  thousand  feet.  When 
he  gits  ter  the  ground  he  goes  by  the  pole.  I 
dunno  how  high  nor  how  long  a  thousand  feet 
air.  The  gover'mint  jes'  want  ter  spend  a  leetle 
money,  I  reckon.  It  'pears  toler'ble  weak-kneed 
in  its  mind,  wunst  in  a  while.  But  ef  it  wants 
ter  fool  money  away,  it 's  mighty  well  able  ter 
afford  sech.  It  hev  got  a  power  o'  ways 
a-comin'  at  money,  —  we  all  know  that,  we  all 
know  that." 

He  said  this  with  a  gloomy  inflection  and  a 
downward  look  that  might  have  implied  a  lia- 
bility for  taxes  beyond  his  willingness  to  pay. 
But,  barring  the  assessment  on  a  small  hold- 
ing of  mountain  land,  Constant  Hite  seemed 
in  case  to  contribute  naught  to  his  country's 
exchequer. 

"It  needs  all  it  can  get,  now,"  replied  the 
stranger  casually,  but  doubtless  from  a  sophis- 
ticated knowledge,  as  behooved  a  reader  of  the 
journals  of  the  day,  of  the  condition  of  the 
treasury. 

He  could  not  account  for  the  quick  glance  of 
alarm  and  enmity  which  the  mountaineer  cast 
upon  him.  It  roused  in  him  a  certain  con- 
straint which  he  had  not  experienced  earlier 
in  their  chance  association.  It  caused  him  to 
remember  that  this  was  a  lonely  way  and  a  wild 


14     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

country.  He  was  an  alien  to  the  temper  and 
sentiment  of  the  people.  He  felt  suddenly  that 
sense  of  distance  in  mind  and  spirit  which  is  the 
true  isolation  of  the  foreigner,  and  which  even 
an  identity  of  tongue  and  kindred  cannot  annul. 
Looking  keenly  into  the  mountaineer's  half- 
averted,  angry,  excited  face,  he  could  not  for 
his  life  discern  how  its  expression  might  com- 
port with  the  tenor  of  the  casual  conversation 
which  had  elicited  it.  He  did  not  even  dimly 
surmise  that  his  allusion  to  the  finances  of  the 
government  could  be  construed  as  a  justification 
of  the  whiskey  tax,  generally  esteemed  in  the 
mountains  a  measure  of  tyrannous  oppression ; 
that  from  his  supposititious  advocacy  of  it  he 
had  laid  himself  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  being 
himself  of  the  revenue  force,  —  his  mission  here 
to  spy  out  moonshiners ;  that  his  companion's 
mind  was  even  now  dwelling  anew,  and  with  a 
rueful  difference,  011  that  masterly  drawing  of 
himself  in  the  stranger's  sketch-book. 

"  But  what  do  that  prove,  though  ? "  Hite 
thought,  a  certain  hope  springing  up  with  the 
joy  of  the  very  recollection  of  the  simulacrum  of 
the  brilliant  rural  coxcomb  adorning  the  page. 
"  Jes'  that  me  is  Me.  All  he  kin  say  'bout  me 
air  that  hyar  I  be  goin'  home  from  huntiii'  ter 
kerry  my  game.  That  ain't  agin  the  law, 
surely." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     15 

The  "  revenuers,"  he  argued,  too,  never  rode 
alone,  as  did  this  man,  and  spies  and  informers 
were  generally  of  the  vicinage.  The  stranger 
was  specially  well  mounted,  and  as  his  puzzled 
cogitation  over  the  significant  silence  that  had 
supervened  between  them  became  so  marked 
as  to  strike  Hite's  attention,  the  mountaineer 
sought  to  nullify  it  by  an  allusion  to  the  horse. 
"  That  feller  puts  down  his  feet  like  a  kitten," 
he  said  admiringly.  "  I  never  seen  nuthin'  ez 
wears  shoes  so  supple.  Shows  speed,  I  s'pose  ? 
Built  fur  it." 

"  Makes  pretty  fair  time,"  responded  the 
stranger  without  enthusiasm.  The  doubt,  per- 
plexity, and  even  suspicion  which  his  compan- 
ion's manner  had  evoked  were  not  yet  dissipated, 
and  the  allusion  to  the  horse,  and  the  glow  of 
covetous  admiration  in  Hite's  face  as  his  eyes 
dwelt  upon  the  finely  fashioned  creature  so 
deftly  moving  along,  brought  suddenly  to  his 
mind  sundry  exploits  of  a  gang  of  horse-thieves 
about  these  coves  and  mountains,  detailed  in 
recent  newspapers.  These  rumors  had  been 
esteemed  by  urban  communities  in  general  as 
merely  sensational,  and  had  attracted  scant 
attention.  Now,  with  their  recurrence  to  his 
recollection,  their  verisimilitude  was  urged  upon 
him.  The  horse  he  rode  was  a  valuable  animal, 
and  moreover,  here,  ten  or  twenty  miles  from  a 


16     The  Mystei*y  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

habitation,  would  prove  a  shrewd  loss  indeed. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  impossible  to  shake  off  or 
evade  his  companion ;  the  wilderness,  with  its 
jungle  of  dense  rhododendron  undergrowth  on 
either  side  of  the  path,  was  impenetrable.  There 
was  no  alternative  practicable.  He  could  only 
go  on  and  hope  for  the  best. 

A  second  glance  at  the  mountaineer's  honest 
face  served  in  some  sort  as  reassurance  as  to  the 
probity  of  his  character.  Gradually  a  vivid  in- 
terest in  the  environment,  which  had  earlier 
amazed  and  amused  Constant  Hite,  began  to  be 
renewed.  The  stranger  looked  about  to  iden- 
tify the  growths  of  the  forest  with  a  keen,  fresh 
enthusiasm,  as  if  he  were  meeting  old  friends. 
Once,  with  a  sudden  flush  and  an  intent  eye,  he 
flung  the  reins  to  the  man  whom  he  had  half 
suspected  of  being  a  horse-thief  ten  minutes 
before,  to  hastily  dismount  and  uproot  a  tiny 
wayside  weed,  which  he  breathlessly  and  trium- 
phantly explained  to  the  wondering  mountain- 
eer was  a  rare  plant  which  he  had  never  seen ; 
he  carefully  bestowed  it  between  the  leaves  of 
his  sketch-book  before  he  resumed  the  saddle, 
and  Hite  was  moved  to  ask,  "  How  d'  ye  know 
its  durned  comical  name,  ef  ye  never  seen  it 
afore  ?  By  Gosh  !  it 's  got  a  name  longer  'n  its 
tap-root ! " 

The  town  man  only  laughed  a  trifle  at  this 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     17 

commentary  upon  the  botanical  Latin  nomen- 
clature, and  once  more  he  was  leaning  from  his 
saddle,  peering  down  the  aisles  of  the  forest 
with  a  smiling,  expectant  interest,  as  if  they 
held  for  him  some  enchantment  of  which  duller 
mortals  have  no  ken.  A  brown  geode,  picked 
up  in  the  channel  of  a  summer-dried  stream, 
showed  an  interior  of  sparkling  quartz  crystal, 
when  a  blow  had  shattered  it,  which  Hite  had 
never  suspected,  often  as  he  had  seen  the  rugged 
spherical  stones  lying  along  the  banks.  All  the 
rocks  had  a  thought  for  the  stranger,  close  to  his 
heart  and  quick  on  his  tongue,  and  as  Hite,  half 
skeptical,  half  beguiled,  listened,  his  suspicion 
of  the  man  as  a  "  revenuer  "  began  to  fade. 

"  The  revenuers  ain't  up  ter  no  sech  1'arnin' 
ez  this,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  vicarious 
pride.  "  The  man,  though  he  never  war  in  the 
mountings  afore,  knows  ez  much  about  'em  ez  ef 
he  hed  bodaciously  built  'em.  Fairly  smelt  that 
thar  cave  over  t'  other  side  the  ridge  jes'  now,  I 
reckon ;  else  how  'd  he  know  't  war  thar  ?  " 

A  certain  hollow  reverberation  beneath  the 
horse's  hoofs  had  caught  his  companion's  quick 
ear.  "  Have  you  ever  been  in  this  cave  here- 
about?" he  had  asked,  to  Kite's  delighted 
amazement  at  this  brilliant  feat  of  mental  jug- 
glery, as  it  seemed  to  him. 

Even  the  ground,  when  the  repetitious  woods 


18     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

held  no  new  revelation  of  tree  or  flower,  or  hazy, 
flickering  insect  dandering  through  the  yellow 
sunshine  and  the  olive-tinted  shadow  and  the 
vivid  green  foliage,  the  very  ground  had  a  word 
for  him. 

"  This  formation  here,"  he  said,  leaning  from 
his  saddle  to  watch  the  path  slipping  along  be- 
neath his  horse's  hoofs,  like  the  unwinding  of 
coils  of  brown  ribbon,  "  is  like  that  witch-face 
slope  that  we  saw  awhile  ago.  It  seems  to  occur 
at  long  intervals  in  patches.  You  see  down 
that  declivity  how  little  grows,  how  barren." 

The  break  in  the  density  of  the  woods  served 
to  show  the  mountains,  blue  and  purple  and 
bronze,  against  the  horizon  ;  an  argosy  of  white 
clouds  under  full  sail ;  the  Cove,  shadowy,  slum- 
berous, so  deep  down  below  ;  and  the  oak  leaves 
above  their  heads,  all  dark  and  sharply  dentated 
against  the  blue. 

Hite  had  suddenly  drawn  in  his  horse.  An 
eager  light  was  in  his  eye,  a  new  idea  in  his 
mind.  He  felt  himself  on  the  verge  of  immi- 
nent discovery. 

"Now,"  said  he,  lowering  his  voice  mysteri- 
ously, and  laying  his  hand  on  the  bridle  of  the 
other's  horse,  —  and  so  far  had  the  allurements 
of  science  outstripped  merely  mundane  consider- 
ations that  the  stranger's  recent  doubts  and  anx- 
ieties touching  his  animal  were  altogether  for- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch- Face  Mountain.     19 

gotten,  and  he  was  conscious  only  of  a  respon- 
sive expectant  interest,  —  "  air  thar  ennything 
in  that  thar  *  formation,'  ez  ye  calls  it  ez  could 
gin  out  fire  ?  " 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  said  the  man  of  science, 
surprised,  and  marking  the  eager,  insistent  look 
in  Kite's  eyes.  Both  horses  were  at  a  standstill 
now.  A  jay-bird  clanged  out  its  wild  woodsy 
cry  from  the  dense  shadows  of  a  fern-brake  far 
in  the  woods  on  the  right,  and  they  heard  the 
muffled  trickling  of  water,  falling  on  mossy 
stones  hard  by,  from  a  spring  so  slight  as  to  be 
only  a  silver  thread.  The  trees  far  below  waved 
in  the  wind,  and  a  faint  dryadic  sibilant  singing 
sounded  a  measure  or  so,  and  grew  fainter  in  the 
lulling  of  the  breeze,  and  sunk  to  silence. 

"  Ennyhow,"  persisted  Hite,  "  won't  sech 
yearth  gin  out  light  somehows,  —  in  some  condi- 
tions sech  ez  ye  talk  'bout?  "  he  added  vaguely. 

"  Spontaneously  ?  Certainly  not,"  the  stranger 
replied,  preserving  his  erect  pose  of  inquiring 
and  expectant  attention. 

"  Why,  then  the  mounting 's  'witched  sure 
enough,  —  that 's  all,"  said  Hite  desperately. 
He  cast  off  his  hold  on  the  stranger's  horse, 
caught  up  his  reins  anew,  and  made  ready  to 
fare  onward  forthwith. 

"  Does  fire  ever  show  there  ?  "  demanded  his 
companion  wonderingly. 


20     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  It 's  a  plumb  meracle,  it 's  a  plumb  mys- 
tery," declared  Constant  Hite,  as  they  went 
abreast  into  the  dense  shadow  of  the  closing 
woods.  "  I  asked  ye  this  'kase  ez  ye  'peared  ter 
sense  so  much  in  rocks,  an'  weeds,  an'  birds,  an' 
sile,  what  ain't  revealed  ter  the  mortal  eye  in 
gineral,  ye  mought  be  able  ter  gin  some  nateral 
reason  fur  that  thar  sile  up  thar  round  the  old 
witch-face  ter  show  fire  or  sech.  But  it 's  beyond 
yer  knowin'  or  the  knowin'  o'  enny  mortal,  I 
reckon." 

"  How  does  the  fire  show  ?  "  persisted  the  man 
of  science,  with  keen  and  attentive  interest. 
"  And  who  has  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Stranger,"  said  Hite,  lowering  his  voice,  "  I 
hev  viewed  it,  myself.  But  fust  it  war  viewed  by 
the  Hanways,  —  them  ez  lives  in  that  house  on 
the  spur  what  prongs  out  o'  the  range  nigh  op- 
posite the  slope  o'  the  Witch-Face.  One  dark 
night,  —  thar  war  no  moon,  but  thar  warn't  no 
storm,  jes'  a  dull  clouded  black  sky,  ez  late 
August  weather  will  show  whenst  it  be  heavy 
an'  sultry,  —  all  of  a  suddenty,  ez  the  Hanway 
fambly  war  settin'  on  the  porch  toler'ble  late  in 
the  night,  the  air  bein'  close  in  the  house,  the  dar- 
ter, Narcissa  by  name,  she  calls  out, '  Look  !  look ! 
I  see  the  witch-face  ! '  An'  they  all  start  up  an' 
stare  over  acrost  the  deep  black  gorge.  An' 
thar,  ez  true  ez  life,  war  the  witch-face  glim- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     21 

merin'  in  the  midst  o'  the  black  night,  and  agrin- 
nin'  at  'em  an'  a-mockin'  at  'em,  an'  lighted  up 
ez  ef  by  fire." 

"  And  did  no  one  discover  the  origin  of  the 
fire  ?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

"  Thar  war  no  fire  !  "  Constant  Hite  paused 
impressively.  Then  he  went  on  impulsively,  full 
of  his  subject :  "  Ben  Hanway  kem  over  ter  the 
still-house  arter  me,  an'  tergether  we  went  ter 
examinate.  But  the  bresh  is  powerful  thick,  an' 
the  way  is  long,  an'  though  we  seen  a  flicker 
wunst  or  twict  ez  we-uns  pushed  through  the 
deep  woods,  't  war  daybreak  'fore  we  got  thar, 
an'  nare  sign  nor  smell  o'  fire  in  all  the  woods 
could  we  find  ;  nare  scorch  nor  singe  on  the 
ground,  not  even  a  burnt  stick  or  chunk  ter  tell 
the  tale  ;  everythin'  ez  airish  an'  cool  an'  jewy 
an'  sweet  ter  the  scent  ez  a  summer  mornin'  is 
apt  ter  be." 

"  How  often  has  this  phenomenon  occurred  ?  " 
said  the  stranger  coolly,  but  with  a  downcast, 
thoughtful  eye  and  a  pursed-up  lip,  as  if  he  were 
less  surprised  than  cogitating. 

"  Twict  only,  fur  we  hev  kep'  an  eye  on  the 
old  witch,  Ben  an'  me.  Ben  wants  a  road 
opened  out  up  hyar,  stiddier  jes'  this  herder's 
trail  through  the  woods.  Ben  dunno  how  it 
mought  strike  folks  ef  they  war  ter  know  ez  the 
witch-face  hed  been  gin  over  ter  sech  cur'ous 


22     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face,  Mountain. 

ways  all  of  a  suddenly.  They  mought  take  it  fur  a 
sign  agin  the  road,  sech  ez  b'lieves  in  the  witch- 
face  givin'  bad  luck."  After  a  pause,  "  Then  I 
viewed  it  wunst,  —  wunst  in  the  dead  o'  the 
night.  I  war  goin'  home  from  the  still,  an'  I 
happened  ter  look  up,  an'  I  seen  the  witch-face, 
—  the  light  jes'  dyin'  out,  jes'  fadin'  out.  She 
did  n't  hev  time  ter  make  more  'n  two  or  three 
faces  at  me,  an'  then  she  war  gone  in  the  night. 
It 's  a  turr'ble-lookin'  thing  at  night,  stranger. 
So  ye  can't  tell  what  makes  it,  —  the  sile,  or 
what?" 

He  turned  himself  quite  sideways  as  he  spoke, 
one  hand  on  the  carcass  of  the  deer  behind  the 
saddle,  the  other  on  his  horse's  neck,  the  better 
to  face  his  interlocutor  and  absorb  his  scientific 
speculations.  And  in  that  moment  an  odd  idea 
occurred  to  him,  —  nay,  a  conviction.  He  per- 
ceived that  his  companion  knew  and  understood 
the  origin  of  the  illumination ;  and  more,  — 
that  he  would  not  divulge  it. 

"The  soil?  Assuredly  not  the  soil,"  the 
stranger  said  mechanically.  He  was  looking 
down,  absorbed  in  thought,  secret,  mysterious, 
yet  not  devoid  of  a  certain  inexplicable  sugges- 
tion of  triumph ;  for  a  subtle  cloaked  elation, 
not  unlike  a  half -smile,  was  on  his  face,  although 
its  intent,  persistent  expression  intimated  the 
following  out  of  a  careful  train  of  ideas. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     23 

"Then  what  is  it?"  demanded  Hite  arro- 
gantly, as  if  he  claimed  the  right  to  know. 

"  I  really  could  n't  undertake  to  say,"  the 
stranger  responded,  his  definite  manner  so  con- 
clusive an  embargo  on  further  inquiries  that 
Hite  felt  rising  anew  all  his  former  doubts  of 
the  man,  and  his  fears  and  suspicions  as  to  the 
errand  that  had  brought  him  hither. 

Could  it  be  possible,  he  argued  within  himself, 
that  to  the  agency  of  "  revenuers  "  was  due  that 
mysterious  glow,  more  brilliant  than  any  ordi- 
nary fire,  steady,  suffusive,  continuous,  rising  in 
the  dark  wilderness,  in  the  deep  midnight,  to  re- 
veal that  ominous  face  overlooking  all  the  coun- 
tryside, with  subtle  flickers  of  laughter  run- 
ning athwart  its  wonted  contortions,  more  weird 
and  sinister  in  this  ghastly  glare  than  by  day  ? 
And  what  significance  might  attend  these  strange 
machinations  ?  Revolving  the  idea,  he  presently 
shook  his  head  in  conclusive  negation  as  he  rode 
along.  The  approach  of  raiders  was  silent  and 
noiseless  and  secret.  Whatever  the  mystery 
might  portend  it  was  not  thus  that  they  would 
advertise  their  presence,  promoting  the  escape 
of  the  objects  of  their  search.  Hite's  open  and 
candid  mind  could  compass  no  adequate  motive 
for  concealment  in  all  the  ways  of  the  world  but 
the  desire  to  evade  the  revenue  law,  or  to  prac- 
tice the  shifts  and  quirks  necessary  to  the 


24     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

capture  of  the  wary  and  elusive  moonshiner. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  impossible,  on  either  of 
these  obvious  bases,  to  account  for  the  fact  of 
something  withheld  in  the  stranger's  manner, 
some  secret  exultant  knowledge  of  the  phenome- 
non which  baffled  the  mountaineer's  speculation. 
Hite,  all  unaware  that  in  his  impulsive  speech 
he  had  disclosed  the  fact  of  his  hazardous  occu- 
pation, began  to  feel  that,  considering  his  lia- 
bility to  the  Federal  law  for  making  brush 
whiskey,  he  had  somewhat  transcended  the  limit 
of  his  wonted  hardihood  in  so  long  bearing  this 
stranger  company  along  the  tangled  ways  of  the 
herder's  trail  through  the  wilderness.  "  He 
mought  be  a  revenuer  arter  all,  an'  know  all 
about  me.  The  rest  o'  the  raiders  mought  be 
a-waitin'  an'  a-layin'  fur  me  at  enny  turn,"  he 
reflected.  "  Leastwise  he  knows  a  deal  more  'n 
he 's  a-goin'  ter  tell." 

He  drew  up  his  horse  as  they  neared  an  open 
bluff  where  the  beetling  rocks  jutted  out  like  a 
promontory  above  the  sea  of  foliage  below. 
They  might  judge  of  the  long  curvature  of  the 
conformation  of  the  range  just  here,  for  on  the 
opposite  height  was  visible  at  intervals  the  road 
they  had  traveled,  winding  in  and  out  among  the 
trees,  ascending  the  mountain  in  serpentine 
coils  ;  they  beheld  the  Cove  beneath  from  a  new 
angle,  and  further  yet  the  barren  cherty  slope 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     25 

on  which,  despite  the  distance,  the  witch-face 
could  still  be  discerned  by  eyes  practiced  in 
marking  its  lineaments,  trained  to  trace  the 
popular  fantasy.  The  stranger  caught  sight  of 
it  at  the  same  moment  that  Hite  lifted  his  hand 
toward  it. 

"  Thar  it  is  !  "  Hite  exclaimed,  "  fur  all  the 
Cove 's  a  shadder,  an'  fur  all  the  wind 's  a 
breath." 

For  clouds  had  thickened  over  the  sky,  and 
much  of  the  world  was  gray  beneath,  and  the 
scene  had  dulled  in  tint  and  spirit  since  last  they 
had  had  some  large  outlook  upon  it.  Only  on 
the  slopes  toward  the  east  did  the  sunshine  rest, 
and  in  the  midst  of  a  sterile,  barren  slant  it 
flickered  on  that  semblance  of  ill  omen. 

"An  onlucky  day,  stranger,"  Hite  said 
slowly. 

The  man  of  science  had  drawn  in  his  restive 
horse,  and  had  turned  with  a  keen,  freshened 
interest  toward  the  witch-face.  It  was  with  a 
look  of  smiling  expectancy  that  he  encountered 
the  aspect  of  snarling  mockery,  half  visible  or 
half  imaginary,  of  that  grim  human  similitude. 
The  mountaineer's  brilliant  dark  eyes  dwelt 
upon  him  curiously.  However,  if  he  had  for- 
borne from  prudential  motives  from  earlier  ask- 
ing the  stranger's  name  and  vocation,  lest  more 
than  a  casual  inquisitiveness  be  thereby  implied, 


26     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

exciting  suspicion,  such  queries  were  surely  not 
in  order  at  the  moment  of  departure.  For  Hite 
had  resolved  on  parting  company.  "  An  on- 
lucky  day,"  he  reiterated,  "an  onlucky  day. 
An'  this  be  ez  far  ez  we  spen'  it  tergether.  I 
turn  off  hyar." 

So  ever  present  with  him  was  his  spirituous 
conscience  —  it  could  hardly  be  called  a  bad 
conscience  —  that  he  half  expected  his  com- 
panion to  demur,  and  the  posse  of  a  deputy 
marshal  to  spring  up  from  their  ambush  in  the 
laurel  about  them.  But  the  stranger,  still  with 
a  flavor  of  preoccupation  in  his  manner,  only 
expressed  a  polite  regret  to  say  farewell  so  early, 
and  genially  offered  to  shake  hands.  As  with 
difficulty  he  forced  his  horse  close  to  the  moun- 
taineer's saddle,  Hite  looked  at  the  animal  with 
a  touch  of  disparagement.  "  That  thar  beastis 
hev  got  cornsider'ble  o'  the  devil  in  him  ;  he  ?11 
trick  ye  some  day ;  ye  better  look  out.  Waal, 
far'well  stranger,  far'well." 

The  words  had  a  regretful  cadence.  Whether 
because  of  the  unwonted  interest  which  the 
stranger  had  excited,  or  the  reluctance  to  relin- 
quish his  curiosity,  still  ungratined,  or  the  pain 
of  parting  to  an  impressionable  nature,  whose 
every  emotion  is  acute,  Hite  hesitated  when  he 
had  gone  some  twenty  yards  straight  up  the 
slope  above,  pushing  his  horse  along  a  narrow 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     27 

path  through  the  jungle  of  the  laurel,  and  turned 
in  his  saddle  to  call  out  again,  "  Far'well !  " 

The  stranger,  still  at  the  point  where  Hite  had 
quitted  him,  waved  his  hand  and  smiled.  The 
jungle  closed  about  the  mountaineer,  once  more 
pushing  on,  and  still  the  smiling  eyes  dwelt  on 
the  spot  where  he  had  disappeared.  "  Farewell, 
my  transparent  friend,"  the  stranger  said,  with 
a  half-laugh.  "  I  hope  the  day  is  not  unlucky 
enough  to  put  a  deputy  marshal  on  your  track." 
And  with  one  more  glance  at  the  witch-face,  he 
gathered  the  reins  in  his  hand  and  rode  on  alone 
along  the  narrow  tangled  ways  of  the  herder's 
trail. 

Now  and  again,  as  the  day  wore  on,  Constant 
Hite  was  seized  with  a  sense  of  something  want- 
ing, and  he  presently  recognized  the  deficit  as 
the  expectation  of  the  ill  fortune  which  should  be- 
fall the  time,  and  which  still  failed  to  materialize. 
So  strong  upon  him  was  the  persuasion  of  evil 
chances  rife  in  the  air  to-day  that  he  set 
himself  as  definitely  to  thwart  and  baffle  them 
as  if  rationally  cognizant  of  their  pursuit. 
He  would  not  return  to  his  wonted  vocation  at 
the  distillery,  but  carried  his  venison  home, 
where  his  father,  a  very  old  man,  with  still  the 
fervors  of  an  esthetic  pride,  pointed  out  with 
approbation  the  evidence  of  a  fair  shot  in  the 
wound  at  the  base  of  the  buck's  ear,  and  his 


28     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

mother,  active,  wiry,  practical-minded,  noted  the 
abundance  of  fat.  "  He  fed  hisself  well  whilst 
he  war  about  it,"  she  commented,  "  an'  now  he  '11 
feed  us  well.  What  diff'unce  do  it  make 
whether  Con's  rifle-ball  hit  whar  he  aimed  ter  do 
or  no,  so  he  fetched  him  down  some  whar  ?  " 

The  afternoon  passed  peacefully  away.  It 
seemed  strangely  long.  The  sun,  barring  a 
veiled  white  glister  in  a  clouded  gray  sky,  be- 
tokening the  solar  focus,  disappeared  ;  the  wind 
fell ;  the  very  cicadae,  so  loud  in  the  latter  days 
of  August,  were  dulled  to  long  intervals  of 
silence ;  in  the  distance,  a  tree-toad  called  and 
called,  with  plaintive  iteration,  for  rain.  "  Ye  '11 
git  it,  bubby,"  Con  addressed  the  creature,  as 
he  stood  in  the  cornfield  —  a  great  yellow  stretch 
—  pulling  fodder,  and  binding  the  long  pliant 
blades  into  bundles.  The  clouds  still  thickened  ; 
the  heat  grew  oppressive  ;  the  long  rows  of  the 
corn  were  motionless,  save  the  rustling  of  the 
blades  as  Hite  tore  them  from  the  stalk.  Even 
his  mother's  spinning-wheel,  wont  to  briskly 
whir  through  the  long  afternoons,  from  the  win- 
dow of  the  little  cabin  on  the  rise,  grew  silent, 
and  his  father  dozed  beneath  the  gourd  vines  on 
the  porch. 

The  sun  went  down  at  last,  and  the  gray  day 
imperceptibly  merged  into  the  gray  dusk.  Then 
came  the  lingering  darkness,  with  a  flicker  of 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     29 

fireflies  and  broad  wan  flares  of  heat  lightning. 
Con  woke  once  in  the  night  to  hear  the  rain  on 
the  roof.  The  wind  was  blaring  near  at  hand. 
In  its  large,  free  measures,  like  some  deliberate 
adagio,  there  was  naught  of  menace ;  but  when 
he  slept  again,  and  awoke  to  hear  its  voice  anew, 
his  heart  was  plunging  with  sudden  fright.  A 
human  utterance  was  in  its  midst,  —  a  human 
voice  calling  his  name  through  the  gusty  night 
and  the  sibilant  rush  of  the  rain  from  the  eaves. 
He  listened  for  a  moment  at  the  roof-room  win- 
dow. He  recognized  with  a  certain  relief  the 
tones  of  the  constable  of  the  district.  He  opened 
the  shutter. 

A  new  day  was  near  to  breaking.  He  saw 
the  wan  sky  above  the  periphery  of  dense  dark 
woods  about  the  clearing.  A  brown  dusk  ob- 
scured the  familiar  landmarks,  but  beneath  a 
gnarled  old  apple-tree  by  the  gate  several  men 
were  dimly  suggested,  and  another,  more  dis- 
tinct, by  the  wood-pile,  was  in  the  act  of  gather- 
ing a  handful  of  chips  to  throw  at  the  shutter 
again.  He  desisted  as  he  marked  the  face  at 
the  window. 

"  Kem  down,"  he  said  gruffly,  clearing  his 
throat  in  embarrassment.  "  Kem  down,  Con- 
stant. No  use  roustin'  out  the  old  folks." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  Hite  in  a  low 
voice,  his  heart  seeming  to  stand  still  in  sus- 
pense. 


30     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

The  constable  hesitated.  The  cold  rain 
dashed  into  Kite's  face.  The  rail  fences,  in  zig- 
zag lines,  were  coming  into  view.  A  mist  was 
floating  white  against  the  dark  densities  of  the 
woods.  He  heard  the  water  splashing  from  the 
eaves  heavily  into  the  gullies  below,  and  then 
the  constable  once  more  raucously  cleared  his 
throat. 

"Thar's  a  man,"  he  drawled,  "a  stranger 
hyarabouts,  killed  yestiddy  in  the  bridle-path. 
The  cor'ner  hev  kem,  an'  he  'lows  ye  know 
suthin'  'bout'n  it,  Constant,  —  'bout'n  the  killin' 
of  him.  I  be  sent  ter  fetch  ye." 

II. 

A  chimney,  half  of  stone,  half  of  clay  and 
stick,  stood  starkly  up  in  the  gray  rain  and  the 
swooping,  shifting  gray  fog.  It  marked  the  site 
of  a  cabin  burned  long  ago,  and  in  such  mel- 
ancholy wise  as  it  might  it  told  of  the  home  that 
had  been.  Now  and  again  far-away  lightning 
flashed  on  its  fireless  hearth ;  a  vacant  bird's- 
nest  in  a  cranny  duplicated  the  suggestions  of 
desertion ;  the  cold  mist  crept  in  and  curled  up 
out  of  the  smokeless  flue  with  a  mockery  of  sem- 
blance. The  fire  that  had  wrought  its  devastat- 
ing will  in  the  black  midnight  in  the  deep  wilder- 
ness, so  far  from  rescue  or  succor,  had  swiftly 
burned  out  its  quick  fury,  and  was  sated  with 


The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     31 

the  humble  household  belongings.  The  barn, 
rickety,  weather-beaten,  deserted,  and  vacant, 
still  remained,  —  of  the  fashion  common  to  the 
region,  with  a  loft  above,  and  an  open  wagonway 
between  the  two  compartments  below,  —  and  it 
was  here  that  the  inquest  was  held.  It  was  near 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  occasionally  a  man 
would  detach  himself  from  the  slow,  dawdling, 
depressed-looking  group  of  mountaineers  who 
loitered  in  the  open  space  beneath  the  loft, 
and  traverse  the  scant  distance  down  the  bridle- 
path to  gaze  at  the  spot  where  the  stranger's 
body  had  lain,  whence  it  had  been  conveyed  to 
the  nearest  shelter  at  hand,  the  old  barn,  where 
the  coroner's  jury  were  even  now  engaged  in 
their  deliberations.  Sometimes,  another,  versed 
in  all  the  current  rumors,  would  follow  to  point 
out  to  the  new-comer  the  details,  show  how  the 
rain  had  washed  the  blood  away,  and  fearfully 
mark  the  tokens  of  frantic  clutches  at  the  trees 
as  the  man  had  been  torn  from  his  horse.  The 
animal  had  vanished  utterly ;  even  the  prints  of 
his  hoofs  were  soon  obliterated  by  the  torrents 
and  the  ever-widening  puddles.  And  thus  had 
arisen  the  suspicion  of  ambush  and  foul  play, 
and  the  implication  of  the  mysterious  gang  of 
horse-thieves,  whose  rumored  exploits  seemed 
hardly  so  fabulous  with  the  disappearance  of 
the  animal  and  the  violent  death  of  the  rider  in 


32     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

evidence.  The  locality  offered  no  other  sug- 
gestion, and  it  was  but  a  brief  interval  before 
the  way  would  be  retraced  by  the  awe-stricken 
observer,  noting  with  a  deep  interest  impossible 
hitherto  all  the  environment :  the  stark  chimney 
of  the  vanished  house,  monumental  in  the  weed- 
grown  waste ;  the  dripping  forest ;  the  roof  of 
the  barn,  sleek  and  shining,  and  with  rain  pour- 
ing down  the  slant  of  its  clapboards  and  splash- 
ing from  its  eaves ;  the  groups  of  horses  hitched 
to  the  scraggy  apple-trees  of  the  deserted  home- 
stead ;  and  here  and  there  the  white  canvas  cover 
of  an  ox- wagon,  with  its  yoke  of  steers  standing 
with  low-hung  heads  in  the  downpour.  The 
pallid  circling  mists  enveloped  the  world,  and 
limited  the  outlook  to  a  periphery  of  scant  fifty 
paces ;  occasionally  becoming  tenuous,  as  if  to 
suggest  the  dark  looming  of  the  mountain  across 
the  narrow  valley,  and  the  precipice  close  at 
hand  behind  the  building,  then  once  more  inter- 
vening, white  and  dense  of  texture,  forming  a 
background  which  imparted  a  singular  distinct- 
ness to  the  figures  grouped  in  the  open  space  of 
the  barn  beneath  the  shadowy  loft. 

The  greater  number  of  the  gathering  had 
been  summoned  hither  by  a  sheer  curiosity  as 
coercive  as  a  subpoena,  but  sundry  of  the  group 
were  witnesses,  reluctant,  anxious,  with  a  vague 
terror  of  the  law,  and  an  ignorant  sense  of  an 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     33 

impending  implication  that  set  both  craft  and 
veracity  at  defiance.  They  held  their  heads 
down  ponderingly,  as  they  stood;  perhaps  re- 
hearsing mentally  the  details  of  their  meagre 
knowledge  of  the  event,  or  perhaps  canvassing 
the  aspect  of  certain  points  which  might  impute 
to  them  blame  or  arouse  suspicion,  and  endeav- 
oring to  compass  shifty  evasions,  to  transform 
or  suppress  them  in  their  forthcoming  testimony. 
At  random,  one  might  have  differentiated  the 
witnesses  from  the  mass  of  the  ordinary  moun- 
taineer type  by  the  absorbed  eye,  or  the  medita- 
tive moving  lip  unconsciously  forming  unspoken 
words,  or  the  fallen  dismayed  jaw  as  of  the 
victim  of  circumstantial  evidence.  It  was  a 
strange  chance,  the  death  that  had  met  this 
casual  wayfarer  at  their  very  doors,  and  one 
might  not  know  how  the  coroner  would  interpret 
it.  His  power  to  commit  a  suspect  added  to  his 
terrors,  and  gave  to  the  capable,  astute  official  a 
mundane  formidableness  that  overtopped  the 
charnel-house  flavor  of  his  more  habitual  duties. 
He  was  visible  through  the  unchinked  logs  of 
the  little  room  where  the  inquest  was  in  pro- 
gress, barely  spacious  enough  to  contain  the  bier, 
the  jury,  and  the  witness  under  examination ; 
and  yet  so  great  was  the  sound  of  the  rain  out- 
side and  the  stir  of  the  assemblage  that  little  or 
naught  was  overheard  without. 


34     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

Now  and  again  the  waiting  witnesses  looked 
with  doubt  and  curiosity  and  suspicion  at  a  new- 
comer, with  an  obvious  disposition  to  hope  and 
believe  that  others  knew  more  of  the  matter  than 
they,  and  thus  were  more  liable  to  accusation. 
Occasionally,  a  low-toned,  husky  query  would 
be  met  by  a  curt  rejoinder  suggesting  a  cautious 
reticence  and  a  rising  enmity,  blockading  all  in- 
vestigation save  the  obligatory  inquisition  of  a 
coroner's  jury.  An  object  of  ever-recurrent 
scrutiny  was  a  stranger  in  the  vicinity,  who  had 
been  subpo3naed  also.  The  facial  effect  of  cul- 
ture and  sophistication  was  illustrated  in  his 
inexpressive,  controlled,  masklike  countenance. 
He  was  generally  known  as  the  "valley  man 
with  the  lung  complaint,"  who  had  built  a  cabin 
on  the  mountain  during  the  summer,  banished 
hither  by  the  advice  of  his  physician  for  the 
value  to  the  lungs  of  the  soft,  healing  air.  He 
wore  a  brown  derby  hat,  a  fawn-colored  suit, 
and  a  brown  overcoat,  with  the  collar  upturned. 
He  was  blond  and  young,  and  so  impassive  was 
his  sober,  decorous  aspect  that  the  aptest  detec- 
tive could  have  discerned  naught  of  significance 
as  he  stood,  quite  silent  and  composed,  in  the 
centre  of  the  place  where  it  was  dry,  exempt 
from  the  gusts  of  rain  that  the  wind  now  and 
again  flung  in  spray  upon  the  outermost  mem- 
bers of  the  group,  one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     35 

trousers,  the  other  toying  with  a  cigar  which  so 
far  he  held  unlighted. 

Of  the  two  women  present,  one,  seated  upon 
the  beam  of  a  broken  plough,  refuse  of  the 
agricultural  industry  long  ago  collapsed  here, 
was  calmly  smoking  her  pipe,  — a  wrinkled, 
unimpressed  personality,  who  had  seen  many 
years,  and  whose  manner  might  imply  that  all 
these  chances  of  life  and  death  came  in  the 
gross,  and  that  existence  was  a  medley  at  best. 
The  other,  a  witness,  was  young.  More  than 
once  the  "  valley  man  "  cast  a  covert  glance  at 
her  as,  clad  in  a  brown  homespun  dress,  she 
leaned  against  the  log  wall,  her  face,  which  was 
very  pale,  half  turned  toward  it,  as  if  to  hide  the 
features  already  much  obscured  by  the  white 
sunbonnet  drawn  far  over  it.  One  arm  was 
lifted,  and  her  hand  was  passed  between  the  un- 
chinked  logs  in  a  convulsive  grasp  upon  them. 
Her  figure  was  tall  and  slender,  and  expressive 
in  its  rigid  constraint ;  it  was  an  attitude  of  de- 
spair, of  repulsion,  of  fear.  It  might  have  im- 
plied grief,  or  remorse,  or  anxiety.  Often  the 
eyes  of  the  prescient  victims  of  circumstantial 
evidence  rested  dubiously  upon  her.  To  the 
great  majority  of  men,  the  presence  of  women 
in  affairs  of  business  is  an  intrusive  evil  of 
times  out  of  joint.  Now,  since  matters  of  life 
and  liberty  were  in  the  balance,  the  primitive 


36     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

denizens  of  Witch-Face  Mountain  felt  that  the 
admission  of  Narcissa  Hanway's  testimony  to 
consideration  and  credibility  evinced  an  essen- 
tial defect  in  the  law  of  the  land,  and  the  falli- 
bility of  all  human  reasoning.  What  distorted 
impression  might  not  so  appalling  an  event 
make  upon  one  so  young,  so  feminine,  so  in- 
experienced !  What  exaggerated  wild  thing 
might  she  not  say,  unintentionally  inculpating 
half  Witch-Face  Mountain  in  robbery  and  mur- 
der! 

Constant  Hite,  as  he  bluffly  entered  the  pas- 
sageway, his  head  up,  his  eyes  wide  and  bright, 
his  vigorous  step  elastic  and  light,  gave  no  token 
of  the  spiritual  war  he  had  waged  as  he  came. 
Already  he  felt  in  great  jeopardy.  On  account 
of  his  illicit  vocation  he  could  ill  abide  the  scru- 
tiny of  the  law.  With  scant  proof,  he  argued, 
a  moonshiner  might  be  suspected  of  highway 
robbery  and  murder.  As  he  had  journeyed 
hither  with  the  constable  and  his  fellows,  who 
conserved  the  air  of  disinterested  spectators,  but 
who  he  knew  had  been  summoned  to  aid  the 
officer  in  case  he  should  evade  or  delay,  when 
he  would  have  been  forthwith  arrested,  he  had 
been  sorely  tempted  to  deny  having  ever  seen 
the  stranger,  in  whose  company  he  had  spent  an 
hour  or  so  of  the  previous  day.  He  had  been 
able  to  put  the  lie  from  him  with  a  normal 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     37 

moral  impulse.  He  did  not  appreciate  the  turpi- 
tude of  perjury.  He  esteemed  it  only  a  natural 
lie  invested  with  pomp  and  circumstance  ;  and 
the  New  Testament  on  which  he  should  be 
sworn  meant  no  more  to  his  unlettered  con- 
science than  the  horn-book,  since  he  knew  as 
little  of  its  contents.  But  a  lie  is  a  skulking 
thing,  and  he  had  scant  affinity  with  it. 

He  thought,  with  a  sort  of  numb  wonderment, 
that  it  was  strange  he  should  feel  no  more  com- 
passion for  the  object  stretched  out  here,  dumb, 
dead,  bruised,  and  bloody,  which  so  short  a 
space  since  he  had  seen  full  of  life  and  interest, 
animated  by  a  genial  courtesy  and  graced  with 
learning  and  subtle  insight ;  now  so  unknow- 
ing, so  unlettered,  so  blind !  Whither  went  this 
ethereal  investiture  of  life?  —  for  it  was  not 
mere  being;  one  might  exist  hardily  enough 
without  it.  Did  the  darkness  close  over  it,  too, 
or  was  it  not  the  germ  of  the  soul,  the  budding 
of  that  wider  knowledge  and  finer  aspiration  to 
flower  hereafter  in  rarer  air  ?  He  did  not  know ; 
he  only  vaguely  cared,  and  he  reproached  him- 
self dully  that  he  cared  no  more.  For  he  —  his 
life  was  threatened !  With  the  renewal  of  the 
thought  he  experienced  a  certain  animosity  to- 
ward the  man  that  he  should  not  have  known 
enough  to  take  better  care  of  himself.  Why 
must  he  needs  die  here,  in  this  horrible  unex- 


38     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

plained  way,  and  leave  other  men,  chance  asso- 
ciates, to  risk  stretching  hemp  for  murder  ?  He 
felt  his  strong  life  beating  in  his  throat  almost 
to  suffocation  at  the  mere  suggestion.  Again 
the  lie  tempted  him,  to  be  again  withstood  ;  and 
as  he  strode  into  the  room  upon  the  calling  of 
his  name,  he  saw  how  futile,  how  flimsy,  was 
every  device,  for,  fluttering  in  the  coroner's 
hand,  he  recognized  the  sketch  of  the  "  Witch- 
Face  "  which  the  dead  man  had  made,  and  the 
masterly  drawing  of  his  own  imposing  figure  in 
the  foreground.  He  had  forgotten  it  utterly  for 
the  time  being.  In  the  surprise  and  confusion 
that  had  beset  him,  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  to 
speculate  how  he  had  chanced  to  be  subprenaed, 
how  the  idea  could  have  occurred  to  the  coroner 
that  he  knew  aught  of  the  stranger.  As  he 
stood  against  the  batten  door,  the  pale  light 
from  the  interstices  of  the  unchinked  logs,  all 
the  grayer  because  it  alternated  with  the  sombre 
timbers,  falling  upon  his  face  and  figure,  his  hat 
upturned  in  front,  revealing  his  brow  with  a 
forelock  of  straight  black  hair,  his  brilliant 
dark  eyes,  and  his  distinctly  cut  definite  fea- 
tures, the  sketch-book  was  swiftly  passed  from 
one  to  another  of  the  jury,  reluctantly  relin- 
quished here  and  there,  and  more  than  once 
eliciting  half  -  smothered  exclamations  of  de- 
lighted wonder  from  the  unsophisticated  moun- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     39 

taineers,  as  they  glanced  back  and  forth  from 
the  man  leaning  against  the  door  to  the  coun- 
terfeit presentment  on  the  paper. 

Constant  Kite  experienced  a  glow  of  vicari- 
ous pride  as  he  remembered  the  satisfaction  that 
the  artist  had  taken  in  the  sketch,  and  he  wished 
that  that  still  thing  on  the  bier  could  know  how 
his  work,  most  wonderful  it  seemed,  was  appre- 
ciated. And  then,  with  a  swift  revulsion  of 
feeling,  he  realized  that  it  was  this  which  had 
entrapped  him ;  this  bit  of  paper  had  brought 
him  into  fear  and  trouble  and  risk  of  his  life. 
The  man  might  be  of  the  revenue  force.  He 
might  have  encountered  other  moonshiners,  and 
thus  have  come  to  his  violent  death.  If  this 
were  his  vocation,  it  brought  Hite  into  dark  sus- 
picion by  virtue  of  the  fact,  known  to  a  few  of 
the  neighborhood,  that  he  himself  was  a  distiller 
of  brush  whiskey.  No  one  else  had  seen  the 
stranger  till  the  finding  of  the  body.  He  gath- 
ered this  from  the  trend  of  the  inquiry  after  the 
formal  preliminary  queries.  The  seven  men,  as 
they  sat  together  on  a  bench  made  by  passing  a 
plank  between  the  logs  of  the  wall  diagonally 
across  the  corner  of  the  room,  chewed  medita- 
tively their  quids  of  tobacco,  and  now  and  then 
spat  profusely  on  the  ground,  their  faces  grow- 
ing more  perplexed  and  graver  as  the  examina- 
tion progressed. 


40     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

When  Hite  disclosed  the  circumstance  that  on 
the  previous  day  he  had  encountered  a  "  stranger 
man  "  near  the  "  Witch-Face,"  there  was  a  pal- 
pable sensation  among  them.  They  glanced  at 
one  another  meaningly,  and  a  sudden  irritation 
was  perceptible  in  the  coroner's  manner  as  he 
sat  in  a  rickety  chair  near  the  improvised  bier. 
He  was  a  citizen  of  the  valley  region,  a  trifle 
more  sophisticated  than  the  jury,  and  disposed  to 
seriously  deprecate  the  introduction  of  any  mor- 
bid or  superstitious  element  into  so  grave  a  mat- 
ter. He  had  a  bald  head,  a  lean  face,  the  bones 
very  clearly  defined  about  the  temple  and  cheek 
and  jaw,  a  scanty  grizzled  beard :  and  he  was 
dressed  somewhat  farmer  fashion,  in  blue  jeans, 
with  his  boots  drawn  high  over  his  trousers,  but 
with  a  stiffly  starched  white  shirt,  —  the  collar 
and  cravat  in  evidence,  the  cuffs,  however,  van- 
ished up  the  big  sleeves  of  his  coat. 

"  The  exact  place  of  the  meeting  is  not  mate- 
rial," he  said  frowningly. 

But  Kite's  mercurial  interest  in  the  drawing 
had  revived  anew. 

"Thar  she  be,"  he  exclaimed,  so  suddenly 
that  the  jury  started  with  a  common  impulse, 
"  the  ole  witch-face,"  -  he  pointed  at  the  sketch 
in  the  coroner's  hand,  —  "a  mite  ter  the  east 
an'  a  leetle  south  in  the  pictur',  ez  nat'ral  ez 
life!" 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     41 

One  of  the  jurymen  asked  to  see  the  sketch 
again.  Evidently,  in  the  hasty  delineation  of 
the  contours  of  the  slope  they  had  not  noticed 
the  gigantic  grimacing  countenance  which  they 
all  knew  so  well ;  the  picturesque  figure  of  the 
mountaineer  in  the  foreground  had  so  impressed 
the  stranger  that  it  was  much  more  nearly  com- 
plete than  the  landscape,  being  definite  in  every 
detail,  and  fully  shaded.  The  book  was  handed 
along  the  row  of  men,  each  recognizing  the  sem- 
blance, once  pointed  out,  with  a  touch  of  dis- 
mayed surprise  that  alarmed  the  coroner  for  the 
sanity  of  the  verdict ;  his  rational  estimate  rated 
spells  and  bewitchments  and  omens  as  far  less 
plausible  agencies  in  disaster  than  horse-thieves, 
highwaymen,  and  moonshiners. 

"  Look  at  the  face  of  the  deceased,"  he  said, 
with  a  sort  of  spare  enunciation,  coercive  some- 
how in  its  inexpressiveness.  "Ye  are  sure  ye 
never  viewed  that  man  afore  yestiddy  ?  " 

"  I  hev  said  so  an'  swore  it,"  said  Hite,  a 
trifle  nettled. 

"  Ye  rode  iu  comp'ny  a  hour  or  mo'  an'  never 
asked  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  never  axed  him  no  questions,  nor  he  me," 
replied  Hite,  "  'ceptin'  'bout'n  the  witch-face. 
He  was  powerful  streck  by  that.  An'  I  tole 
him  't  war  a  onlucky  day." 

The  jury,  a  dreary  row  of  unkempt  heads, 


42     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

and  bearded  anxious  faces,  and  crouching  shoul- 
ders askew,  cleared  their  throats,  and  two  un- 
crossed and  recrossed  their  legs,  the  plank  seat 
creaking  ominously  with  the  motion  under  their 
combined  weight.  A  shade  of  disappointment 
was  settling  on  the  coroner's  face.  This  was 
slight  information  indeed  from  the  only  person 
who  had  seen  the  man  alive.  There  was  silence 
for  a  moment.  The  splashing  of  the  rain  on  the 
roof  became  drearily  audible  in  the  interval. 
The  stir  of  the  group  in  the  space  outside  was 
asserted  anew,  with  their  low-toned  fitful  con- 
verse ;  a  black-and-white  ox  in  the  weed-grown 
garden  emitted  a  deep,  depressed  low  of  remon- 
strance against  the  rain,  and  the  irking  of  the 
yoke,  and  the  herbage  just  beyond  his  reach. 
The  jurymen  might  see  him  through  the  logs, 
and  now  and  again  one  of  them  mechanically 
ducked  his  head  to  look  out  upon  the  dismal  as- 
pect of  the  chimney  and  orchard,  round  which 
so  many  horses  and  wagons  had  not  gathered 
since  the  daughter  of  the  house  was  long  ago 
married  here.  There  was  a  sprinkle  of  gray  in 
his  hair,  and  he  remembered  the  jollities  of  the 
wedding,  —  incongruous  recollection,  —  and  once 
more  he  looked  at  the  stark  figure,  its  face  cov- 
ered with  a  white  cloth,  which  had  been  done  in 
a  sentiment  of  atonement  for  the  unseemly  pub- 
licity of  its  fate. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     43 

In  sparsely  settled  communities,  death,  being 
rare,  retains  much  of  the  terror  which  custom 
lessens  in  the  dense  crowds  of  cities.  There 
death  is  met  at  every  corner.  It  goes  on  'Change. 
It  sits  upon  the  bench.  It  is  chronicled  in  the 
columns  of  every  newspaper.  Daily  its  bells  toll. 
Its  melancholy  pageantry  traverses  the  streets  of 
wealthy  quarters,  and  it  stalks  abroad  hourly  in 
the  slums,  and  few  there  are  who  gaze  after  it. 
But  here  it  comes  so  seldom  that  its  dread  fea- 
tures are  not  made  smug  by  familiarity.  When 
Hite  was  told  to  look  again  at  the  face  and  see 
if  memory  might  not  have  played  him  false,  to 
make  sure  he  had  never  seen  the  man  before 
yesterday,  he  hesitated,  and  advanced  with  such 
reluctance,  and  started  back,  dropping  the  cloth, 
with  such  swift  repulsion,  that  the  coroner,  habit- 
uated to  such  matters,  gazed  at  him  with  a 
doubtful  scrutiny. 

"  Oh,  he  looked  nowise  like  that,"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  raised,  nervous  voice  that  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  the  crowd  outside,  and  resulted  in  a  sud- 
den cessation  of  stir  and  colloquy,  "  though  it 's 
him,  sure  enough !  And,"  with  a  burst  of 
regret,  "  he  war  a  mighty  pleasant  man !  " 

The  coroner,  intentionally  taking  him  at  a  dis- 
advantage, asked  abruptly,  "  What  do  you  work 
at  mostly  ?  " 

Hite  turned  shortly  from  the  bier.     "  I  farms 


44     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

some,"  he  hesitated;  "dad  bein'  mos'ly  out  o' 
the  field,  nowadays,  agin'  so  constant." 

"  What  do  you  work  at  mostly  ?  "  reiterated 
the  official. 

Hite  divined  his  suspicion.  Some  flying 
rumor  had  doubtless  come  to  his  ears,  how  credi- 
ble, how  unimpugnable,  the  moonshiner  could 
not  tell.  Nevertheless,  his  loyalty  to  that  secret 
vocation  of  his  had  become  a  part  of  his  nature, 
so  continuous  were  its  demands  upon  his  cour- 
age, his  strategy,  his  foresight,  his  industry.  It 
was  tantamount  to  his  instinct  of  self-defense. 
He  held  his  head  down,  with  his  excited  dark 
eyes  looking  up  from  under  his  brows  at  the 
coroner.  But  he  would  not  speak.  He  would 
admit  naught  of  what  was  evidently  known. 

"  Warn't  ye  afeard  he  might  be  a  revenuer  ?  " 
suggested  the  officer. 

"  I  never  war  afeard,  so  ter  say,  o'  one  man  at 
a  time,"  Hite  ventured. 

"  Did  n't  ye  think  he  might  take  a  notion  that 
you  were  a  moonshiner  ?  " 

"  He  never  showed  no  suspicion  o'  me,  noways," 
replied  Hite  warily.  "  We  rid  tergether  free  an' 
favored.  He  'peared  a  powerful  book-1'arned 
man,  —  like  no  revenuer  ever  I  see." 

"  Where  did  you  part  company  ?  " 

Hite  sought  to  identify  the  spot  by  description ; 
and  then  he  was  allowed  to  pass  out,  his  spirits 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     45 

flagging  with  the  ordeal,  and  with  the  knowledge 
that  his  connection  with  the  manufacture  of  brush 
whiskey  was  suspected  by  the  coroner's  jury,  sug- 
gesting an  adequate  motive  on  his  part  for  way- 
laying a  stranger  supposed  to  be  of  the  revenue 
force.  He  felt  the  dash  of  the  rain  in  his  face 
as  he  stood  aside  to  make  way  for  the  "  valley 
man  with  the  lung  complaint,"  who  was  passing 
into  the  restricted  apartment ;  and  despite  his 
whirl  of  anxiety  and  excitement  and  regret  and 
resentment,  he  noted  with  a  touch  of  surprise  the 
cool  unconcern  of  the  man's  face  and  manner, 
albeit  duly  grave  and  adjusted  to  the  decorums 
of  the  melancholy  occasion. 

He  was  sworn,  and  gave  his  name  as  Alan 
Selwyn.  The  jury  listened  with  interest  to  his 
fluent  account  of  his  occupation  in  the  valley, 
which  had  been  mercantile,  of  his  temporary 
residence  here  for  a  bronchial  affection ;  and 
when  he  was  asked  to  identify  the  man  who  had 
so  mysteriously  come  to  his  death,  they  marked 
his  quick,  easy  stride  as  he  crossed  the  room, 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  his  unmoved  coun- 
tenance as  he  looked  fixedly  down  into  the  face 
of  the  dead.  He  remained  a  longer  interval 
than  was  usual  with  the  witnesses,  as  if  to  make 
sure.  Then,  still  quite  businesslike  and  brisk, 
he  stated  that  he  could  not  identify  him,  having 
certainly  never  seen  him  before. 


46     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"The  only  papers  which  he  had  on  him," 
said  the  coroner,  watching  the  effect  of  his  words, 
"  were  two  letters  addressed  to  you." 

The  young  man  started  in  palpable  surprise. 
As  he  looked  at  the  exterior  of  the  letters,  which 
were  stamped  and  postmarked,  he  observed  that 
they  must  have  been  taken  out  of  the  post-office 
at  Sand  ford  Cross-Roads,  to  expedite  their 
delivery ;  the  postmaster  doubtless  consenting  to 
this  request  on  the  part  of  so  reputable-looking 
a  person  or  a  possible  acquaintance. 

"Were  you  expecting  a  visitor?"  asked  the 
coroner. 

"  Not  at  all,"  responded  the  puzzled  witness. 

He  was  requested  to  open  the  letters,  read  and 
show  them.  But  he  waived  this  courtesy,  asking 
the  coroner  to  open  and  read  them  to  the  jury. 
They  were  of  no  moment,  both  on  matters  of 
casual  business,  and  Mr.  Alan  Selwyn  was  dis- 
missed ;  the  coroner  blandly  regretting  that,  in 
view  of  his  malady,  he  had  been  required  to  come 
out  in  so  chilly  a  rain. 

Notwithstanding  his  composure  he  was  in  some 
haste  to  be  gone.  He  went  quickly  through  the 
crowd,  drawing  down  his  hat  over  his  brow,  and 
deftly  buttoning  his  overcoat  across  his  chest  and 
throat.  He  had  reached  his  horse,  and  had 
placed  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,  when,  chancing  to 
glance  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  Narcissa 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     47 

Hanway's  white,  flowerlike  face,  her  bonnet 
pushed  far  back  on  her  tawny  yellow  hair,  both 
arms  outstretched  in  a  gesture  of  negation  and 
repulsion  toward  the  apartment  where  the  jury 
sat,  while  a  dark-haired,  slow  man  urged  her 
forward,  one  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  the  old 
mountain  woman  followed  with  insistence  and 
encouragement.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment ; 
then  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  rode  off 
swiftly  through  the  slanting  lines  of  rain. 

III. 

A  sense  of  helplessness  in  the  hands  of  fate  is 
in  some  sort  conducive  to  courage.  Doubtless 
many  an  act  of  valor  which  has  won  the  world's 
applause  was  precipitated  in  a  degree  by  des- 
peration and  the  lack  of  an  alternative.  The 
appearance  of  stolidity  with  which  the  cluster  of 
witnesses  — those  whose  testimony  was  yet  to  be 
given  as  well  as  those  who  had  told  the  little 
they  knew  —  noted  the  uncontrolled  agitation, 
the  wild  eyes,  the  hysteric  sobs,  with  which 
Narcissa  Han  way  was  ushered  into  the  contracted 
apartment  where  the  inquest  was  in  progress, 
had  no  correlative  calmness  of  mind  or  heart. 
What  haphazard  accusation  might  not  result  from 
her  fear,  or  her  desire  to  shield  another,  or  the 
mere  undisciplined  horror  of  the  place  and  the 
fact !  When  one  dreads  the  sheer  possibilities, 


48     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

the  extremes  of  terror  are  reached.  More  than 
one  of  the  bearded,  unkempt,  hardy  mountain- 
eers, trudging  back  and  forth  in  the  sheltered 
space  beneath  the  loft,  steadily  chewing  their 
quids  of  tobacco  and  eying  the  rain,  would  have 
fled  incontinently,  had  there  been  any  place  to 
run  to  out  of  reach  of  the  constable,  who  was 
particularly  brisk  to-day,  participating  in  exer- 
cises of  so  unusual  an  interest.  The  girl's  bro- 
ther, standing  beside  the  door  after  she  had 
passed  within,  was  unconscious  of  a  certain  keen 
covert  scrutiny  of  which  he  was  the  subject. 
He  had  a  square  determined  face,  dark  hair, 
slow  gray  eyes,  and  a  tall  powerful  frame  ;  he 
held  his  head  downward,  his  hand  on  the  door, 
his  even  teeth  set  in  the  intensity  of  his  effort  to 
distinguish  the  voices  within.  There  had  been 

O 

some  secret  speculation  as  to  whether  the  man 
were  altogether  unknown  to  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter, such  deep  feeling  she  had  evinced,  such 
coercion  he  had  exerted  to  induce  her  to  give 
her  testimony.  Still,  the  girl  was  a  mere  slip 
of  a  thing,  unused  to  horrors ;  and  as  to  recal- 
citrant witnesses,  they  all  knew  the  jail  had  a 
welcome  for  the  silent  until  such  time  as  they 
might  find  a  voice.  Nevertheless,  though  his 
urgency  had  been  in  the  stead  of  the  constable's 
stronger  measures,  they  eyed  him  askance  as  he 
stood  and  sought  to  listen,  with  his  hand  on  the 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     49 

door.  The  old  woman  turned  around,  her  arras 
falling  to  her  sides  with  a  sort  of  flounce  of 
triumph,  her  eyes  twinkling  beneath  the  shining 
spectacles  set  upon  her  brow  among  the  limp 
ruffles  of  her  thrust-back  sunbonnet,  a  laugh  of 
satisfaction  widening  her  wrinkled  face.  "  Thar 
now ! "  she  chuckled,  "  Nar'sa  jes'  set  it  down 
she  would  n't  testify,  an'  crossed  her  heart  an' 
hoped  she  'd  fall  dead  fust.  But,  Ben,  we  beat 
her  that  time  !  "  and  she  chuckled  anew. 

The  man  answered  not  a  word,  and  listened 
to  the  tumult  within. 

It  is  seldom,  doubtless,  that  the  patience  of  a 
coroner's  jury  is  subjected  to  so  strong  a  strain. 
But  the  information  which  had  so  far  been  elic- 
ited was  hardly  more  than  the  bare  circumstance 
which  the  body  presented,  —  a  man  had  ridden 
here,  a  stranger,  and  he  was  dead.  If  the  girl 
knew  more  than  this,  it  would  necessitate  some 
care  in  the  examination  to  secure  the  facts.  She 
was  young,  singularly  willful  and  irresponsible, 
and  evidently  overcome  by  grief,  or  fear,  or  simply 
horror.  When  she  was  asked  to  look  at  the  face 
of  the  stranger,  she  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  it, 
as  if  by  accident,  and  turned  away,  pulling  her 
white  bonnet  down  over  her  face,  and  declaring 
that  she  would  not.  "  I  hev  viewed  him  wunst, 
an'  I  won't  look  at  him  again,"  she  protested, 
with  a  burst  of  sobs. 


50     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  Now  set  down  in  this  cheer,  daughter,  an' 
tell  us  what  ye  know  about  it  all,  —  easy  an' 
quiet,"  said  the  coroner  in  a  soothing,  paternal 
strain. 

"  Oh,  nuthin',  nuthin' !  "  exclaimed  the  girl, 
throwing  herself  into  the  chair  in  the  attitude  of 
an  abandonment  of  grief. 

"  Air  ye  cryin'  'kase  ye  war  'quainted  with 
him  ennywise  ?  "  demanded  one  of  the  jurymen, 
with  a  quickening  interest.  He  was  a  neighbor ; 
that  is,  counting  as  propinquity  a  distance  of  ten 
miles. 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  suddenly.  "  I  never 
seen  him  till  yestiddy,"  she  protested  steadily. 
"  I  be  a  heap  apter  ter  weep  'kase  my  'quain- 
tances  ain't  dead  !  "  She  gave  him  a  composed, 
sarcastic  smile,  then  fell  to  laughing  and  crying 
together. 

To  the  others  the  discomfiture  of  their  con- 
frere was  the  first  touch  of  comedy  relief  in  the 
tragic  situation.  They  cast  at  one  another  a 
glance  of  appreciation  trenching  on  a  smile,  and 
the  abashed  questioner  drew  out  a  plug  of  to- 
bacco, and  with  a  manner  of  preoccupation 
gnawed  a  bit  from  it ;  then  replaced  it  in  his 
pocket,  with  a  physical  contortion  which  caused 
the  plank  on  which  the  jury  were  seated  to  creak 
ominously,  to  the  manifest  anxiety  of  the  wor- 
thies ranged  thereon. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     51 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  see  the  man  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  if  he  had  perceived  no  significance  in 
her  previous  answer. 

"  'Kase  I  did  n't  happen  ter  be  blind,"  her 
half-muffled  voice  replied.  Her  arm  was  thrown 
over  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  her  face  was  hid- 
den on  her  elbow. 

The  coroner  interposed  quickly :  "  Where 
were  you  goin',  an'  what  did  you  see  ?  " 

She  sobbed  aloud  for  a  moment.  Then  ensued 
an  interval  of  silence.  Suddenly  the  interest 
of  the  subject  seemed  to  lay  hold  upon  her,  and 
she  began  to  speak  very  rapidly,  lifting  her  white 
tear-stained  face,  and  pushing  her  bonnet  back 
on  her  rough  curling  auburn  hair :  — 

"  I  war  a-blackberryin',  thar  bein'  only  a  few 
lef '  yit,  an'  I  went  fur  an'  furder  yit  from  home  ; 
an'  ez  I  keni  out'n  the  woods  over  yon,"  half  ris- 
ing, and  pointing  with  a  free  gesture,  "  I  viewed 
—  or  yit  I  'lowed  I  viewed  —  the  witch-face 
through  a  bunch  o'  honey  locust,  the  leaves  bein' 
drapped  a'ready,  they  bein'  always  the  fust  o' 
the  year  ter  git  bare.  An'  stiddier  leavin'  it  be,  I 
sot  my  bucket  o'  berries  at  the  foot  o'  a  tree',  an 
started  down  the  slope  todes  the  bluff,  ter  make 
sure  an'  view  it  clar  o'  the  trees."  The  girl 
paused,  her  eyes  widening,  her  voice  faltering, 
her  breath  coming  fast.  "  An'  goin'  swift,  some 
hawgs,  stray,  half  grown,  'bout  twenty  shoats 


52     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

feedin'  in  the  woods  —  my  rustlin'  in  the  bushes 
skeered  'em  I  reckon  —  they  sot  out  to  run,  pos- 
sessed by  the  devil,  like  them  the  Scriptur'  tells 
about."  She  paused  again,  panting,  her  hand 
to  her  heart. 

The  disaffected  juryman  turned  to  one  side, 
recrossing  his  legs,  and  spitting  disparagingly 
on  the  ground.  "  She  can't  swear  them  hawgs 
war  possessed  by  the  devil,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone 
to  his  next  neighbor. 

"  Oh,  why  not,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  "  when 
we  know  so  many  men  air  possessed  by  the 
devil,  —  why  not  them  shoats,  bein'  jes'  without 
clothes,  an'  without  the  gift  o'  speech  to  mark 
the  diff'unce !  " 

She  paused  again,  and  the  coroner,  standing 
a  trifle  back  of  her  chair,  shook  his  head  at  the 
obstructive  juryman,  and  asked  her  in  a  common- 
place voice  what  the  hogs  had  to  do  with  it. 

"  That 's  what  I  wanter  know !  "  she  cried, 
half  turning  in  her  chair  to  look  up  at  him.  "  I 
started  'em,  an'  I  be  at  the  bottom  o'  it  all,  ef  it 's 
like  I  think,  —  me,  yearnin'  ter  look  at  the  old 
witch-face !  The  hawgs  run  through  the  woods 
like  fire  on  dry  grass,  an'  I  be  'feared  they 
skeered  the  stranger  man's  horse  —  he  had  none 
whenst  I  seen  him,  though.  I  hearn  loud  talkin', 
or  hollerin',  a  cornsiderable  piece  off,  an'  then 
gallopin'  hoofs  "  — 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     53 

"More  horses  than  one,  do  you  think?"  de- 
manded the  coroner. 

"  Oh,  how  kin  I  swear  to  that  ?  I  seen  none. 
Fur  when  I  got  thar,  this  man  war  lyin'  in  the 
herder's  trail,  bruised  and  bloody  —  oh,  like  ye 
see  —  an'  his  eyes  opened ;  an'  he  gin  a  sort  o' 
gasp  whenst  I  tuk  his  haii'  —  an'  he  war  dead. 
An'  I  skeered  the  hawgs,  an'  they  skeered  his 
horse,  an'  he  killed  him  ;  an'  I  be  'sponsible  fur 
it  all,  an'  I  wisht  ye  'd  hang  me  fur  it  quick,  an' 
be  done  with  it !  " 

She  burst  into  sobs  once  more,  and  hid  her 
face  on  her  arm  on  the  back  of  the  chair.  Then, 
suddenly  lifting  her  head,  she  resumed :  "  I  jes' 
called  and  called  Ben,  an'  bein'  he  hain't  never 
fur  off,  he  hearn  me,  an'  kem.  An'  then  he  rid 
fur  the  neighbors,  an'  kem  down  the  valley  arter 
you-uns,"  with  a  side  glance  at  the  coroner. 
"  An'  he  lef '  me  a  shootm'-iron,  in  case  of  a  fox, 
or  a  wolf,  or  suthin'  kem  along.  'Bout  sunset 
the  neighbors  kem.  An'  till  then  I  sot  thar 
keepin'  watch,  an'  a-viewin'  the  witch-face  'crost 
the  Cove,  plumb  till  the  sun  went  down." 

She  bowed  her  head  again  on  her  arm,  and 
a  momentary  silence  ensued.  Then  the  coro- 
ner, clearing  his  throat,  said  reassuringly,  "  Thar 
ain't  nuthin'  in  the  witch-face,  nohow.  It 's  jes' 
a  notion.  Man  and  boy,  I  have  knowed  that 
hillside  fur  forty  year,  an'  I  never  could  see  no 


54     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

witch-face  ;  it 's  been  p'inted  out  ter  me  a  thou- 
sand times." 

She  looked  at  him  in  dumb  amazement  for  a 
moment ;  then  broke  out,  "  Waal,  what  would 
ye  think  ef  ye  hed  seen,  like  me,  the  witch-face 
shining  in  the  darkest  night,  nigh  on  ter  mid- 
night, like  the  ole  'oman  had  lighted  her  a 
candle  somewhars,  —  jes'  shinin',  an'  grinnin', 
an'  mockin',  plain  ez  daybreak?  That's  what 
/  hev  viewed  —  an'  I  'low  ter  view  it  agin  —  oh, 
I  do,  I  do  !  " 

He  looked  at  her  hard,  but  he  did  not  say 
what  he  thought,  and  the  faces  of  the  jurymen, 
which  had  implied  a  strong  exception  to  his 
declaration  of  skepticism  touching  the  existence 
of  the  ominous  facial  outline  on  the  hillside, 
underwent  a  sudden  change  of  expression.  She 
was  hardly  responsible,  they  considered,  and  her 
last  incredible  assertion  had  gone  far  to  nullify 
the  effect  of  her  previous  testimony.  She  was 
overcome  by  the  nervous  shock,  or  had  told  less 
than  she  knew  and  was  still  concealing  some- 
what, or  was  so  credulous  and  plastic  and  fanci- 
ful as  to  be  hardly  worthy  of  belief.  She  was 
dismissed  earlier  than  she  had  dared  to  hope : 
and  with  this  deterioration  of  the  testimony  of 
the  witness  who  was  nearest  the  time  and  place 
of  the  disaster,  the  jury  presently  went  to  work 
to  evolve  out  of  so  slender  a  thread  of  fact  and 
so  knotty  a  tangle  of  possibility  their  verdict. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     55 

For  a  long  time,  it  seemed  to  the  curious 
without,  and  to  the  agitated,  nervous  witnesses 
peering  through  the  unchinked  logs  of  the  wall, 
they  sat  on  their  comfortless  perch,  half  crouch- 
ing forward,  and  chewed,  and  discussed  the  tes- 
timony. There  were  frequent  intervals  of 
silence,  and  in  one  of  these  Con  Hite  was  dis- 
turbed to  see  the  sketch  of  the  "  witch-face"  once 
more  passed  from  hand  to  hand.  They  grew 
to  have  a  harried,  baited  look  ;  and  after  a  time, 
the  rain  having  slackened,  they  came  out  in  a 
body,  and  walked  to  and  fro  quite  silently  in  the 
clearing,  chewing  their  quids  and  their  knotty 
problem,  with  apparently  as  much  chance  of 
getting  to  the  completion  of  the  one  as  of  the 
other.  They  were  evidently  refreshed,  however, 
by  the  change  of  posture  and  scene,  for  they  soon 
resumed  the  subject  and  were  arguing  anew  as 
they  paused  upon  the  bluff,  their  gestures  won- 
derfully distinct,  drawn  upon  the  sea  of  mist 
that  filled  the  valley  below  and  the  air  above. 
It  revealed  naught  of  the  earth,  save  here  and 
there  a  headland,  as  it  were,  thrusting  out  its 
dark,  narrow,  attenuated  demesne  into  the  im- 
palpable main.  Further  and  further  one  might 
mark  this  semblance  of  a  coast-line  as  the  vapor 
grew  more  tenuous,  till  far  away  the  series  of 
shadowy  gray  promontories  alternating  with  the 
colorless  inlets  was  as  vague  of  essence  as  the 


56     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

land  of  a  dream.  Near  at  hand,  a  cucumber- 
tree,  with  its  great  broad  green  leaves  and  its 
deep  red  cones,  leaning  over  the  rocks,  and  span- 
ning this  illusive  gray  landscape  from  the  zenith 
to  the  immediate  foreground,  gave  the  only 
touch  of  color  to  the  scenic  simulacrum  in  many 
a  gradation  of  neutral  tone.  The  jurymen  hov- 
ered about  under  the  boughs  for  a  time,  and  then 
came  back,  still  harassed  and  anxious,  to  their 
den,  with  perhaps  some  new  question  of  doubt. 
For  those  without  could  perceive  that  once  more 
they  were  crowding  about  the  bier  and  talking 
together  in  knots.  Again  they  called  in  the 
country  physician  who  had  testified  earlier,  an 
elderly  personage,  singularly  long  and  thin  and 
angular,  but  who  had  a  keen,  intent,  clever  face 
and  the  accent  of  an  educated  man.  He  seemed 
to  reiterate  some  information  in  a  clear,  concise 
manner,  and  when  he  came  out  it  was  evident 
that  he  considered  his  utility  here  at  an  end,  for 
he  made  straight  for  his  horse  and  saddle. 

A  sudden  sensation  supervened  among  the 
outsiders,  —  a  flutter,  and  then  a  breathless  sus- 
pense ;  for  within  the  inclosure,  barred  with  the 
heavy  shadows  of  the  logs  of  the  walls  alternat- 
ing with  the  misty  intervals,  could  be  seen  the 
figures  of  the  seven,  successively  stooping  at  the 
foot  of  the  bier  to  sign  each  his  name  to  the 
inquisition  at  last  drawn  up. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     57 

One  by  one  they  came  slowly  out,  looking 
quite  exhausted  from  their  long  restraint,  the 
unwonted  mental  exercitations,  and  the  nervous 
strain.  Then  it  was  developed,  to  the  astonish- 
ment and  disappointment  of  the  little  crowd, 
tingling  with  excitement  and  anxiety,  that  this 
document  simply  set  forth  the  fact  that  at  an  in- 
quisition huh  1m  on  Witch-Face  Mountain,  Kil- 
deer  County,  before  Jeremiah  Flaxman,  coroner, 
upon  the  body  of  an  unknown  man,  there  lying 
dead,  the  jurors  whose  names  were  subscribed 
thereto,  upon  their  oaths,  did  say  that  he  came 
to  his  death  from  concussion  of  the  brain  con- 
sequent upon  being  thrown  or  dragged  from 
his  horse  by  means  or  by  persons  to  the  jury 
unknown. 

There  was  a  palpable  dismay  on  Constant 
Kite's  expressive  face.  He  had  hoped  that  the 
verdict  might  be  death  by  accident.  Others  had 
expected  the  implication  of  horse-thieves,  of 
whose  existence  the  jury  being  of  the  neighbor- 
hood were  well  advised,  and  the  disappearance  of 
the  man's  horse  might  well  suggest  this  explana- 
tion. The  coroner  would  return  this  inquisition 
to  the  criminal  court  together  with  a  list  of  the 
material  witnesses.  Thus  the  matter  was  left  as 
undecided  as  before  the  inquest,  the  jeopardy, 
the  terrors  of  circumstantial  evidence,  all  still 
impending,  dark  with  doom,  like  the  black  cloud 
which  visibly  overshadowed  the  landscape. 


58     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

IV. 

Since  the  knight-errantry  of  wolf  and  bear 
and  catamount  and  fox  has  scant  need  of  mile- 
stones, or  signposts,  or  ferries,  or  the  tender 
iteration  of  road-taxes,  the  casual  glance  might 
hardly  perceive  the  necessity  of  opening  a 
thoroughfare  through  this  wilderness,  for  these 
freebooters  seemed  likely  to  be  its  chief  benefi- 
ciaries. A  more  rugged  district  could  not  be 
found  in  all  that  massive  upheaval  of  rocks  and 
tangled  wooded  fastnesses  stretching  from  the 
northeast  to  the  southwest  some  twenty  miles, 
and  known  as  Witch-Face  Mountain  ;  a  more 
scantily  populated  region  than  its  slopes  and 
adjacent  coves  scarcely  exists  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  State  of  Tennessee.  The  physi- 
cal possibilities  were  arrayed  against  the  project, 
so  steep  was  the  comblike  summit  on  either 
side,  so  heavy  and  tortuous  the  outcropping 
rock  that  served  as  the  bony  structure  of  the 
great  mountain  mass.  True,  the  river  pierced 
it,  the  denudation  of  solid  sandstone  cliffs,  a 
thousand  feet  in  height,  betokening  the  untir- 
ing energy  of  the  eroding  currents  of  centuries 
agone.  This  agency,  however,  man  might  not 
summon  to  his  aid,  being  "  the  act  of  God,"  to 
use  the  pious  language  of  the  express  companies 
to  describe  certain  contingencies  for  which  they 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     59 

very  properly  decline  the  responsibility.  Against 
the  preemptions  of  the  gigantic  forests  and  the 
gaunt  impassable  crags  and  the  abysmal  river 
might  be  enlisted  only  such  enterprise  as  was 
latent  in  the  male  inhabitants  of  the  vicinity 
over  eighteen  years  of  age  and  under  fifty, 
thus  subject  to  the  duty  of  working  on  the  pub- 
lic roads.  Nevertheless,  the  county  court  had, 
in  a  moment  of  sanguine  exuberance,  entertained 
and  granted  an  application  from  the  adjacent 
landowners  to  order  a  jury  of  view  to  lay  out  a 
public  road  and  to  report  at  the  next  quarterly 
session. 

Precursors  of  the  jury  of  view  in  some  sort 
two  young  people  might  have  seemed,  one  after- 
noon, a  fortnight,  perhaps,  after  the  inquest, 
as  they  pushed  through  the  woody  tangles  to 
the  cliffs  high  above  the  river,  the  opposite 
bank  of  which  was  much  nearer  than  the  swirl- 
ing currents,  crystal  brown  in  the  romantic 
shadows  below.  They  walked  in  single  file, 
the  jury  of  view  in  their  minds,  and  now  and 
then  referred  to  in  their  sparse  speech. 

"Mought  make  it  along  hyar,  Ben."  The 
girl,  in  advance,  paused,  bareheaded,  each  up- 
lifted hand  holding  out  a  string  of  her  white 
sunbonnet,  which,  thus  distended,  was  poised, 
winglike,  behind  the  rough  tangle  of  auburn 
hair  and  against  the  amber  sky.  She  turned  as 


60     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

she  spoke,  to  face  her  companion,  taking  a  step 
or  two  backward  as  she  awaited  his  answer. 

"  Look  out  how  ye  air  a-walkin',  Narcissa ! 
Ye  '11  go  over  the  bluff  back'ards,  fust  thing  ye 
know,"  the  man  called  out  eagerly,  and  with  a 
break  of  anxiety  in  his  voice. 

She  stretched  the  sunbonnet  still  wider  with 
her  upreaching  arms,  and  with  a  smile  of  tanta- 
lizing glee,  showing  her  white  teeth  and  narrow- 
ing her  brown  eyes,  she  continued  to  walk  back- 
ward toward  the  precipice,  —  with  short  steps, 
however;  cautious  enough,  doubtless,  but  calcu- 
lated to  alarm  one  whose  affection  had  given 
much  acuteness  to  fear. 

Still  at  too  great  a  distance  for  interference, 
Ben  affected  indifference.  "  We-uns  '11  hev  the 
coroner's  jury  hyar  agin,  afore  the  jury  o'  view, 
ef  ye  keep  on ;  an'  ye  ain't  got  on  yer  bes' 
caliker  coat,  noways." 

He  climbed  swiftly  up  the  ascent  and  joined 
her,  out  of  breath  and  with  an  angry  gleam  in 
his  eyes.  But  she  had  turned  her  face  and 
steps  in  the  opposite  direction,  the  mirth  of  the 
situation  extinguished  for  the  present. 

"  Quit  talkin'  that-a-way  'bout  sech  turr'ble, 
turr'ble  things  !  "  she  cried  petulantly,  making 
a  motion  as  if  to  strike  him,  futile  at  the  dis- 
tance, and  with  her  frowning  face  averted. 

"  Sech  ez  yer  new  coat  ?     I  'lowed  't  war  the 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     61 

apple  o'  yer  eye,"  he  rejoined  with  a  feint  of 
banter. 

She  held  her  face  down,  with  her  features 
drawn  and  her  eyes  half  closed,  rejecting  the 
vision  of  recollection  as  if  it  were  the  sight  it- 
self. "  I  can't  abide  the  name  o'  cor'ner's  jury, 
—  I  never  wants  ter  hear  it  nor  see  it  agin ! 
I  never  shall  f urgit  how  them  men  all  looked 
a-viewin'  the  traveler's  body  what  I  fund  dead 
in  the  road ;  they  looked  like  jes'  so  many 
solemn,  peekin',  heejus  black  buzzards  crowdin' 
aroun'  the  corpse ;  then  a-noddin'  an'  a-whis- 
perin'  tergether,  an'  a-findin'  of  a  verdic'  ez  they 
called  it.  They  fund  nuthin'  at  all  'T  war 
me  ez  done  the  findin'.  I  fund  the  man 
dead  in  the  road.  An'  /  ain't  a-goin'  ter  be  a 
witness  no  mo'.  Nex'  time  the  law  wants  me 
fur  a  witness  I  '11  go  ter  jail ;  it 's  cheerfuller,  a 
heap,  I '11  bet!" 

As  she  still  held  her  head  down,  her  bonnet 
well  on  it  now,  her  face  with  its  riant  cast  of 
features  incongruously  woebegone,  overshadowed 
by  the  tragedy  she  recounted  even  more  defi- 
nitely than  by  the  brim  of  her  headgear  or  the 
first  gray  advance  of  the  dusk,  he  made  a  clumsy 
effort  to  divert  her  attention. 

"  I  'lowed  ye  war  mightily  in  favor  of  juries ;  ye 
talk  mighty  nigh  all  day  'bout  the  jury  of  view." 

"I  want   a    road   up   hyar,"    she   exclaimed 


62     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

vivaciously,  raising  her  eyes  and  her  joyous 
transfigured  face,  "  a  reg'lar  county  road  !  In 
the  fall  o'  the  year  the  folks  would  kem 
wagonin'  thar  chestnuts  over  ter  sell  in  town, 
an'  camp  out.  An'  all  the  mounting  would  go 
up  an'  down  it  past  our  big  gate  ter  the  church 
house  in  the  Cove.  I  'd  never  want  ter  hear  no 
mo'  preachin'.  I  'd  jes'  set  on  our  front  porch, 
an'  look,  an'  look,  an'  look !  " 

She  cast  up  her  great  bright  eyes  with  as 
vivid  and  immediate  an  irradiation  as  if  the 
brilliant  procession  which  she  pictured  deployed 
even  now,  chiefly  in  ox- wagons,  before  them. 
She  caught  off  her  bonnet  from  her  head, — 
it  seemed  a  sort  of  moral  barometer ;  she  never 
wore  it  when  the  indications  of  the  inner  atmos- 
phere set  fair.  She  swung  it  gayly  by  one  string 
as  she  walked  and  talked ;  now  and  again  she 
held  the  string  to  her  lips  and  bit  it  with  her 
strong,  even  teeth,  reckless  of  the  havoc  in  the 
clumsy  hem. 

"  Then  county  court  days,  —  goin'  to  county 
court,  an'  comin'  from  county  court,  — sech 
passels  an'  passels  o'  folks !  I  wisht  we-uns 
hed  it  afore  the  jury  o'  view  kem,  so  we-uns 
mought  view  the  jury  o'  view." 

"  It 's  along  o'  the  jury  o'  view  ez  we-uns  will 
git  the  road,  —  ef  we  do  git  it,"  the  young  man 
said  cautiously. 


Tlie  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     63 

It  was  one  of  his  self-imposed  duties  to  mod- 
erate, as  far  as  he  might,  his  sister's  views,  to 
temper  her  enthusiasms  and  abate  her  various 
and  easily  excited  anger.  He  had  other  duties 
toward  her  which  might  be  said  to  have  come  to 
him  as  an  inheritance. 

"  Ben 's  the  boy !  "  his  consumptive  mother 
had  been  wont  to  say ;  "  he 's  sorter  slow,  but 
mighty  sure.  '  Brag  is  a  good  dog,  but  Hold- 
Fast  is  a  better.'  Ef  he  don't  sense  nare 
'nother  idee  in  this  life,  he  hev  got  ter  1'arn  ez 
it 's  his  business  ter  take  keer  o'  Nar'sa.  Folks 
say  Nar'sa  be  spoiled  a'ready.  So  be,  fur  whilst 
Ben  be  nuthin'  but  a  boy  he  '11  1'arn  ter  do  her 
bid,  an'  watch  over  her,  an'  wait  on  her,  an' 
keer  for  her,  an'  think  she  be  the  top  o'  creation. 
It  '11  make  her  proud  an'  headin',  I  know,  — 
she  '11  gin  her  stepmammy  a  sight  o'  trouble,  an' 
I  ain't  edzactly  lamentin'  'bout'n  that,  —  but 
Ben  '11  take  keer  o'  her  all  her  life,  an'  good 
keer,  havin'  been  trained  ter  it  from  the  fust." 

But  his  mother  had  slept  many  a  year  in  the 
little  mountain  graveyard,  and  her  place  was 
still  empty.  The  worldly  wise  craft  of  the  sim- 
ple mountain  woman,  making  what  provision  she 
might  for  the  guardianship  of  her  daughter,  was 
rendered  of  scant  effect,  since  her  husband  did 
not  marry  again.  The  household  went  on  as  if 
she  still  sat  in  her  accustomed  place,  with  not 


64     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

one  deficiency  or  disaster  that  might  have  served 
in  its  simple  sort  as  a  memorial,  —  so  little 
important  are  we  in  our  several  spheres,  so 
promptly  do  the  ranks  of  life  close  up  as  we 
drop  dead  from  their  alignment. 

The  panoply  against  adversity  with  which 
Narcissa  had  been  accoutred  by  a  too  anxious 
mother,  instead  of  being  means  of  defense, 
had  become  opportunities  of  oppression.  Her 
brother's  affectionate  solicitude  and  submissive- 
ness  were  accepted  as  her  bounden  due,  as  the 
two  grew  older  ;  her  father  naturally  adapted 
himself  to  the  predominant  sentiment  of  the 
household  ;  and  few  homes  can  show  a  tyrant 
more  arrogant  and  absolute  than  the  mountain 
girl  whose  mother  had  so  predicted  for  her 
much  hardship  and  harshness,  and  a  troubled 
and  subordinate  existence. 

It  was  with  that  instinct  to  guard  her  from  all 
the  ills  of  life,  great  and  small,  that  Ben  sought 
to  prepare  her  for  a  possible  disappointment  now. 

"  Mought  n't  git  the  road  through,  nohow, 
when  all 's  said,"  he  suggested. 

"  What  fur  not  ? "  she  exclaimed,  bringing 
her  dark  brows  together  above  eyes  that  held  a 
glitter  of  anger. 

"  Waal,  some  o'  the  owners  won't  sign  the 
application,  an'  air  goin'  ter  fight  it  in  the 
Court." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     65 

She  put  her  bonnet  on,  and  looked  from  under 
its  brim  up  at  the  amber  sky.  It  was  growing 
faintly  green  near  the  zenith,  toward  which  the 
lofty  topmost  plumes  of  the  dark  green  pines 
swayed.  The  great  growths  of  the  forest  rose 
on  every  side.  There  was  no  view,  no  vista, 
save  the  infinitely  repeated  umbrageous  tangle 
beneath  the  trees,  where  their  boles  stood  more 
or  less  distinct  or  dusky  till  merged  indefinitely 
into  shadow  and  distance.  Looking  down  into 
the  river,  one  lost  the  sense  of  monotony.  The 
ever-swirling  lines  of  the  current  drew  mystic 
scrolls  on  that  wonderfully  pellucid  brown  sur- 
face, —  so  pellucid  that  from  the  height  above 
she  could  see  a  swiftly  darting  shadow  which 
she  knew  was  the  reflection  of  a  homeward- 
bound  hawk  in  the  skies  higher  yet.  Leaves 
floated  in  a  still,  deep  pool,  were  caught  in  a 
maddening  eddy,  and  hurried  frantically  away, 
unwilling,  frenzied,  helpless,  unknowing  whither, 
never  to  return,  —  allegory  of  many  a  life  out- 
side those  darkling  solemn  mountain  woods,  and 
of  some,  perhaps,  in  the  midst  of  them.  The 
reflection  of  the  cliffs  in  the  never  still  current, 
of  the  pines  on  their  summits,  of  the  changing 
sky  growing  deeper  and  deeper,  till  its  amber 
tint,  erstwhile  so  crystalline,  became  of  a  dull 
tawny  opaqueness,  she  marked  absently  for  a 
while  as  she  cogitated  on  his  answer. 


66     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"What  makes  'em  so  contrairy,  Ben?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

"  Waal,  old  man  Sneed  'lows  thar  '11  be  a 
power  o'  cattle-thievin',  with  the  road  so  open 
an'  convenient.  An'  Jeremiah  Sayres  don't 
want  ter  pay  no  road-taxes.  An'  Silas  Boyd 
'lows  he  don't  want  ter  be  obligated  ter  work  on 
no  sech  rough  road  ez  this  hyar  one  air  obleeged 
ter  be  ;  an'  I  reckon,  fust  an'  last,  it  will  take 
a  power  o'  elbow  grease." 

He  paused,  and  looked  about  him  at  the  great 
shelving  masses  of  rock  and  the  steep  slants, 
repeated  through  leagues  and  leagues  of  moun- 
tain wilderness.  Then  seating  himself  on  one 
of  the  ledges  of  the  cliff,  his  feet  dangling  un- 
concernedly over  the  abysses  below,  he  contin- 
ued :  "  An'  Con  Hite,  —  he  's  agin  it,  too." 

She  lifted  her  head,  with  a  scornful  rising 
flush. 

"  Con  Hite  dunno  what  he  wants ;  he  ain't 
got  a  ounce  o'  jedgmint." 

'  Waal,  one  thing  he  don't  want  is  a  road. 
He  be  'feared  it  '11  go  too  close  ter  the  still,  an? 
the  raiders  will  nose  him  out  somehows.  Now 
he  be  all  snug  in  the  bresh,  an'  the  revenuers 
none  the  wiser." 

"  An'  Con  none  the  wiser,  nuther,"  she  flouted. 
"  The  raiders  hev  smoked  out  'sperienced  old 
mountain  foxes  a  heap  slyer 'n  Con  be.  He 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     67 

ain't  got  the  gift.  He  can't  hide  nuthin'.  I 
kin  find  out  everythin'  he  knows  by  jes'  lookin' 
in  his  eye." 

"  That 's  just  'kase  he 's  fool  enough  ter  set  a 
heap  o'  store  by  ye,  Nar'sa.  He  ain't  so  easy 
trapped." 

"  Fool  enough  fur  ennythin',"  she  retorted. 

"  An'  then  thar  's  old  Dent  Kirby.  He  'lows 
the  road  will  be  obligated  ter  pass  by  the  witch- 
face  arter  it  gits  over  yander  nigh  ter  the  valley, 
whar  the  ruver  squeezes  through  the  mounting 
agin.  He  be  always  talkin'  'bout  signs  an' 
spells  an'  sech,  an'  he  'lows  the  very  look  o'  the 
witch-face  kerries  bad  luck,  an'  it  '11  taint  all  ez 
goes  for'ard  an'  back'ard  a-nigh  it." 

"  Ben,"  said  the  girl  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  you- 
uns  b'lieve  ef  thar  war  passin'  continual  on  a 
sure  enough  county  road  that  thar  cur'ous  white 
light  would  kem  on  the  old  witch's  face  in  the 
night-time  ?  Ain't  that  a  sort'n  spell  fur  the 
dark  an'  the  lonesomeness  ter  tarrify  a  few 
quaking  dwellers  round  about?  Surely  many 
folks  comin'  an'  goin'  would  n't  see  sech.  Ghost- 
ful  things  ain't  common  in  a  crowd."  She 
moved  a  little  nearer  her  brother,  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Some  folks  can't  see  the  witch-face  at  all, 
noways,"  he  replied  stolidly.  "  I  hearn  the  cor- 
oner 'low  he  couldn't." 


68     The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

Narcissa  spoke  with  sudden  asperity :  "  I 
reckon  he  hev  got  sense  enough  ter  view  a  light 
whenst  it  shines  inter  his  eyes.  He  'pears  ter 
be  feeble-minded  ginerally,  and  mought  n't  be 
able  ter  pick  out  the  favor  o'  the  features  on  the 
hillside,  but  surely  he  'd  blink  ef  a  light  war 
flickered  inter  his  eyeballs." 

The  road  was  her  precious  scheme,  and  she 
steadfastly  believed  that  with  the  order  of  the 
worshipful  Quarterly  County  Court  declaring  it 
open,  with  a  duly  appointed  overseer  and  a  gang 
of  assigned  work-hands  and  the  presidial  foster- 
ing care  of  a  road  commissioner,  the  haggard 
old  semblance  must  needs  desist  from  supernat- 
ural emblazonment  in  the  awe-stricken  nights, 
and  that  logic  and  law  would  soon  serve  to  exor- 
cise its  baleful  influence. 

Her  mien  grew  graver  as  she  reflected  on  the 
resume  of  objections  to  the  project.  Her  white 
bonnet  threw  a  certain  white  reflection  on  her 
flushed  face.  Her  eyes  were  downcast  as  she 
looked  at  the  river  below,  the  long  lashes  seem- 
ing almost  to  touch  her  cheek.  She  scarcely 
moved  them  as  she  tiirned  her  gaze  upon  her 
brother,  who  was  still  seated  on  the  verge  of  the 
cliff. 

"  Waal,  sir,  I  wonder  that  the  pore  old  road 
petition  hed  life  enough  in  it  ter  crawl  ter  the 
court-house  door.  With  all  them  agin  it,  thar 
ain't  nobody  ter  be  fur  it,  sca'cely." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     69 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  admitted.  "  Them  air  fur  it  ez 
b'lieves  highways  improves  proputty,  an'  hev 
got  land  lyin'  right  alongside  whar  the  road  is 
axed  ter  be  run ;  them  ez  ain't  got  proputty 
alongside  ain't  nigh  so  anxious.  But  that  thar 
strange  valley  man  ez  they  say  hev  got  a  lung 
complaint,  he  won't  sign  nuther.  He  owns  the 
house  he  built  up  thar  on  the  flat  o'  the  mount- 
ing an'  cornsider'ble  land,  though  he  don't  keep 
no  stock  nor  nuthin'.  'Lows  the  air  be  soft 
an'  good  for  the  lung  complaint.  He  'lows  he 
hev  been  tryin'  ter  git  shet  o'  the  railroads  an' 
dirt  roads  an'  human  folks,  an'  he  s'posed  he 
hed  run  ter  the  jumpin'-off  place,  the  e-ends  o' 
the  yearth ;  but  hyar  kems  the  road  o'  civiliza- 
tion a-pursuin'  him  like  the  sarpient  o'  the  Pit, 
with  the  knowledge  o'  good  an'  evil,  —  a  grain 
o'  wheat  an'  a  bushel  o'  chaff,  —  an'  he  reckons 
he  '11  hev  ter  cut  an'  run  again." 

Narcissa's  lips  parted  slightly.  She  listened 
in  amazement  to  this  strange  account  of  an  aver- 
sion to  that  gay  world  in  processional,  chiefly  in 
white-covered  wagons,  which  she  longed  to  see 
come  down  the  county  road. 

"  He  be  a  powerful  queer  man,"  said  Ben 
slowly,  "  this  hyar  Alan  Selwyn." 

And  she  felt  that  this  was  true. 

She  sat  down  beside  her  brother  on  the  rock, 
and  together  they  looked  down  meditatively  on 


70     The  Mystery  of  Wltcli-Face  Mountain. 

the  river.  It  was  reddening  now  with  the  re- 
flection of  the  reddening  clouds.  The  water, 
nevertheless,  asserted  itself.  Lengths  of  steely 
brilliancy  showed  now  and  again  amidst  the 
roseate  suffusion,  and  anon  spaces  glimmered 
vacant  of  all  but  a  dusky  brown  suggestion  of 
depth  and  a  liquid  lustre. 

"  Nar'sa,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  low  voice,  "  ye 
know  they  'lowed  that  the  traveler  what  war 
killed,  some  say  by  his  runaway  horse,  war 
a-comin'  ter  see  him,  —  this  Alan  Selwyn." 

The  white  bonnet  seemed  to  focus  and  retain 
the  lingering  light  in  the  landscape.  Without 
its  aid  he  might  hardly  have  made  shift  to  see 
her  face. 

"  They  'lowed  they  knowed  so  by  the  papers 
the  traveler  had  on  him,  though  this  Selwyn 
'lowed  he  could  n't  identify  the  dead  man,"  he 
continued  after  a  pause. 

She  gazed  wonderingly  at  him,  then  absently 
down  at  the  sudden  scintillating  white  glitter  of 
the  reflection  of  the  evening  star  in  the  dusky 
red  water.  It  burned  with  a  yet  purer,  calmer 
radiance  in  the  roseate  skies.  She  felt  the 
weight  of  the  darkening  gloom,  gathering  be- 
neath the  trees  around  her,  as  if  it  hung  palpa- 
bly on  her  shoulders. 

"Waal,"  he  resumed,  "I  b'lieve  ef  that  thar 
traveler  had  been  able  ter  speak  ter  ye  when  ye 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     71 

fund  him,  like  ye  said  he  tried  ter  do,  I  b'lieve  he 
would  hev  tole  ye  suthin'  'bout  that  thar  valley 
man.  He  's  enough  likelier  ter  hev  hed  suthin' 
ter  do  with  the  suddint  takin'  off  o'  the  feller 
than  Con  Kite." 

Her  face  was  suddenly  aghast.  "  Who  says 
Con  Hite —  Why?"  She  paused,  her  voice 
failing. 

"  Waal,  ye  know  Con  be  a-moonshinin'  again, 
an'  some  'lows  ez  this  hyar  traveler  warn't  a 
traveler  at  all,  but  a  revenuer,  —  strayed  off 
somehows  from  the  rest  o'  'em." 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  he  'd  stop  moonshinin'  an' 
sech ! " 

She  moved  so  suddenly  on  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  as  she  lifted  her  hands  and  drew 
down  her  sunbonnet  over  her  face,  that  Ben's 
glance  was  full  of  terror. 

"  Move  back  a  mite,  Nar'sa  ;  ye  '11  go  over 
the  bluff,  fust  thing  ye  know !  Yes,  Con 's 
mighty  wrong  ter  be  moonshinin'.  The  law  is 
the  right  thing.  It  purtects  us.  It  holps  us 
all.  We-uns  owe  it  obejiunce,  like  I  hearn  a 
man  say  in  a  speech  down  yander  in  "  — 

"  The  law ! "  cried  Narcissa,  with  scorn. 
"  Con  Hite  kin  tromp  on  the  revenue  law  from 
hyar  ter  the  witch-face,  fur  all  I  keer.  Purtects  ! 
I  pity  a  man  ez  waits  fur  the  law  ter  purtect 
him ;  it 's  a  heap  apter  ter  grind  him  ter  pomace. 


72     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

I  mind  moonshinin'  'kase  it 's  dangersome  fur 
the  moonshiners.  The  law  —  I  don't  count  the 
fibble  old  law  !  " 

She  sat  brooding  for  a  time,  her  face  down- 
cast. Then  she  spoke  in  a  low  voice  :  — 

"Why n't  ye  find  out,  Ben?  What  ails  ye 
ter  be  so  good-fur-nuthin'  ?  Thar  be  other  folks 
beside  Con  ez  air  law-breakers."  She  edged 
nearer  to  him,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  Ye  've  got  to  find  out,  Ben,"  she  said  insist- 
ently. "  Keep  an  eye  on  that  thar  valley  man, 
an'  find  out  all  'bout'u  him.  Else  the  killin'  '11 
be  laid  ter  Con,  who  never  done  nuthin'  hurtful 
ter  nobody  in  all  his  life." 

"The  idee  jes'  streck  me  ter-day  whenst  I 
viewed  him  along  about  that  road.  Whenst 
that  thar  dead  man  tuk  yer  han'  an'  tried  ter 
find  a  word  of  speech—  Why,  hullo,  Nar- 
cissa !  " 

With  a  short  cry  she  had  struggled  to  her 
feet.  The  gathering  gloom,  the  recollection  of 
the  tragedy,  the  association  of  ideas,  bore  too 
heavily  on  her  nerves.  She  struck  petulantly 
at  his  astounded  face. 

"  Why  air  ye  always  remindin'  me  ? "  she 
exclaimed,  with  a  sharp  upbraiding  note.  And 
then  she  began  to  cry  out  that  she  could  see 
again  the  coroner's  jury  pressing  close  about 
the  corpse,  with  a  keen  ravenous  interest  like 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     73 

the  vile  mountain  vultures,  and  then  colloguing 
together  aside,  and  nodding  their  heads  and 
saying  they  had  found  their  verdict,  when  they 
had  found  nothing,  not  even  the  poor  dead 
man  ;  and  she  saw  them  here,  and  she  saw  them 
there,  and  everywhere  in  the  darkling  mountain 
woods,  and  she  would  see  them  everywhere  as 
long  as  she  should  live,  and  she  wished  with  all 
her  heart  that  they  were  every  one  at  the  bottom 
of  the  black  mountain  river. 

And  the  slow  Ben  wondered,  as  he  sought  to 
soothe  her  and  take  her  home,  that  a  woman 
should  be  so  sensitive  to  the  mention  of  one 
dead  man,  and  yet  given  to  such  wishes  of  the 
wholesale  destruction  of  the  harmless  coroner's 
jury,  because  their  appearance  struck  her  amiss, 
and  they  collogued  together,  and  nodded  their 
heads  unacceptably,  and  found  their  verdict. 

V. 

Except  in  so  far  as  his  sedulously  cultivated 
fraternal  sentiments  were  concerned,  the  pecu- 
liar domestic  training  to  which  Ben  Hanway 
had  been  subjected  had  had  slight  effect  in  soft- 
ening a  somewhat  hard  and  stern  character.  To 
continue  the  canine  simile  by  which  his  mother 
had  described  him,  his  gentleness  and  watchful 
care  toward  his  sister  were  not  more  reassuring 
to  the  public  at  large  than  is  the  tender  loyalty 


74     The  My stein/  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

of  a  guard-dog  toward  the  infant  of  a  house 
which  claims  his  fealty ;  that  the  dog  does  not 
bite  the  baby  is  no  fair  augury  that  he  will  not 
bite  the  peddler  or  the  prowler.  The  fact  that 
the  traveler  had  borne  letters  addressed  to  Alan 
Selwyn,  and  no  other  papers,  and  yet  Alan 
Selwyn  could  not  or  would  not  identify  him,  had 
already  furnished  Hauway  with  an  ever-recur- 
rent subject  of  cogitation.  It  had  been  the 
presumption  of  the  coroner's  jury,  since  con- 
firmed by  inquiry  of  the  postmaster,  that,  going 
for  some  purpose  to  Alan  Selwyn's  lodge  in  the 
wilderness,  the  unknown  traveler  had,  in  pass- 
ing, called  for  his  prospective  host's  mail  at  the 
Cross-Roads,  some  fifteen  miles  distant  and  the 
nearest  post-office,  such  being  the  courtesy  of 
the  region.  A  visitor  often  insured  a  welcome 
by  thus  voluntarily  expediting  the  delivery  of 
the  mail  some  days,  or  perhaps  some  weeks,  be- 
fore its  recipient  could  have  hoped  to  receive  it 
otherwise.  Hanway  had  long  been  cognizant  of 
this  habit  of  the  Cross- Roads  postmaster  to  ac- 
cede to  such  requests  on  the  part  of  reputable 
people,  but  he  was  reminded  forcibly  of  it  the 
next  morning.  A  neighbor,  homeward  bound 
from  a  visit  to  the  valley,  had  paused  at  Han- 
way's  house  to  leave  a  letter,  with  which  he  had 
charged  himself,  addressed  to  Selwyn. 

"  I  'lowed  ye  mought  be  ridin'  over  thar  some 


TJie  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     75 

day,  bein'  ez  ye  air  toler'ble  nigh  neighbors," 
he  said. 

And  Hanway  the  more  willingly  undertook 
the  delivery  of  the  missive  since  it  afforded  him 
a  pretext  for  the  reconnoissance  which  he  had 
already  contemplated. 

Rain-clouds  had  succeeded  those  fine  aerial 
flauntings  of  the  sunset  splendors,  and  he  set 
out  in  the  pervasive  drizzle  of  a  gray  day.  Torn 
and  ragged  with  the  rain  and  the  gusts,  the 
white  mist  seemed  to  come  to  meet  him  along 
the  vistas  of  the  dreary  dripping  woods.  The 
tall  trees  that  shut  off  the  sky  loomed  loftily 
through  it.  Sometimes,  as  the  wind  quickened, 
it  deployed  in  great  luminously  white  columns, 
following  the  invisible  curves  of  the  atmospheric 
current ;  and  anon,  in  flaky  detached  fragments, 
it  fled  dispersed  down  the  avenues  like  the  scat- 
tered stragglers  of  a  routed  army.  The  wind 
was  having  the  best  of  the  contest ;  and  though 
it  still  rained  when  he  reached  the  vicinity  of 
Alan  Selwyn's  lonely  dwelling,  the  mist  was 
gone,  the  clouds  were  all  resolved  into  the  steady 
fall  of  the  torrents,  and  the  little,  house  on  the 
slope  of  the  mountain  and  all  its  surroundings 
were  visible. 

A  log  cabin  it  was,  containing  two  rooms  and 
the  unaccustomed  luxury  of  glass  windows ;  so 
new  that  the  hewn  cedar  logs  had  not  yet  weath- 


76     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

ered  to  the  habitual  dull  gray  tone,  but  glowed 
jauntily  red  as  the  timbers  alternated  with  the 
white  and  yellow  daubing.  A  stanch  stone 
chimney  seemed  an  unnecessary  note  of  ostenta- 
tion, since  the  more  usual  structure  of  clay  and 
sticks  might  serve  as  well.  It  reminded  Ben 
Hanway  that  its  occupant  was  not  native  to  the 
place,  and  whetted  anew  his  curiosity  as  he 
looked  about,  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck  in 
his  slow  approach.  It  was  a  sheltered  spot ;  the 
great  mountain's  curving  summit  rose  high 
toward  the  north  and  west  above  the  depression 
where  the  cabin  stood ;  across  the  narrow  valley 
a  still  more  elevated  range  intercepted  the  east 
wind.  Only  to  the  south  was  the  limited  plateau 
open,  sloping  down  to  great  cliffs,  giving  upon 
a  vast  expanse  of  mountain  and  valley  and 
plain  and  far  reaches  of  undulating  country, 
promising  in  fair  weather  high,  pure,  soft  air,  a 
tempered  gentle  breeze,  and  the  best  that  the 
sun  can  do. 

He  noted  the  advantages  of  the  situation  in 
reference  to  the  "  lung  complaint,"  feeling  a 
loser  in  some  sort ;  for  he  had  begun  to  suspect 
that  the  consumptive  tendencies  of  the  stranger 
were  a  vain  pretense,  assumed  merely  to  delude 
the  unwary.  He  could  not  have  doubted  long, 
for  when  he  dismounted  and  hitched  his  horse 
to  the  rail  fence  he  heard  the  door  of  the  house 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     77 

open,  and  as  its  owner,  standing  on  the  thresh- 
old in  the  wind  and  the  gusty  rain,  called  out  to 
him  a  welcoming  "  Hello,"  the  word  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  series  of  hacking  coughs  which  told 
their  story  as  definitely  as  a  medical  certificate. 

Ben  Hanway  was  not  a  humane  man  in  any 
special  sense,  but  he  was  conscious  of  haste  in 
concluding  the  tethering  of  the  animal  and  in 
striding  across  the  vacant  weed-grown  yard 
striped  with  the  ever-descending  rain. 

"  Ye  'd  better  git  in  out'n  all  this  wind  an' 
rain,"  he  said  in  his  rough  voice.  "  A  power  o' 
dampness  in  the  air." 

"  No  matter.  There 's  no  discount  on  me. 
Don't  take  cold  nowadays.  I  've  got  right  well 
here  already." 

The  passage-way  was  dark,  but  the  room  into 
which  Ben  was  ushered,  illumined  by  two  oppo- 
site windows,  was  as  bright  as  the  day  would 
allow.  A  roaring  wood  fire  in  the  great  chim- 
ney-place reinforced  the  pallid  gray  light  with 
glancing  red  and  yellow  fluctuations.  The  apart- 
ment was  comfortable  enough,  although  its  uses 
were  evidently  multifarious,  —  partly  kitchen, 
and  dining-room,  and  sitting-room.  Its  furni- 
ture consisted  of  several  plain  wooden  chairs,  a 
table  and  crockery,  a  few  books  on  a  shelf,  a 
lounge  in  the  corner,  and  a  rifle,  after  the 
manner  of  the  mountaineers,  over  the  mantel- 


78     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

piece.  Upon  the  shelf  a  cheap  clock  ticked 
away  the  weary  minutes  of  the  lonely  hours  of 
the  long  empty  days  while  the  valley  man  abode 
here,  exiled  from  home  and  friends  and  his 
accustomed  sphere,  and  fought  out  that  hopeless 
fight  for  his  life. 

Ben  Hanway  gave  him  a  keen,  covert  stare, 
as  he  slowly  and  clumsily  accepted  the  tendered 
chair  and  his  host  threw  another  log  on  the  fire. 
Hanway  had  seen  him  previously,  when  Selwyn 
testified  before  the  coroner's  jury,  but  to-day  he 
impressed  his  visitor  differently.  He  was  tall 
and  slight,  twenty-five  years  of  age,  perhaps, 
with  light  brown  hair,  sleek  and  shining  and 
short,  a  quick  blue  eye,  a  fair  complexion  with 
a  brilliant  flush,  and  a  long  mustache.  But  the 
bizarre  effect  produced  by  this  smiling  appari- 
tion in  the  jaws  of  death  seemed  to  Hanway's 
limited  experience  curiously  enhanced  by  his 
attire.  Its  special  peculiarity  was  an  old  smok- 
ing-jacket,  out  at  the  elbows,  ragged  at  the  cuffs, 
and  frayed  at  the  silk  collar ;  Hanway  had 
never  before  seen  a  man  wear  a  red  coat,  or 
such  foot-gear  as  the  slipshod  embroidered  vel- 
vet slippers  in  which  he  shuffled  to  a  chair  and 
sat  down,  tilted  back,  with  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  gray  trousers.  To  be  sure,  he 
could  but  be  grave  when  testifying  before  a 
coroner's  jury,  but  Hanway  was  hardly  prepared 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     79 

for  such  exuberant  cheerfulness  as  his  manner, 
his  attire,  and  his  face  seemed  to  indicate. 

"Ain't  ye  sorter  lonesome  over  hyar?"he 
ventured. 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life  I  am,"  his  host 
replied  unequivocally.  A  shade  crossed  his  face, 
and  vanished  in  an  instant.  "  But  then,"  he 
argued,  "  I  did  n't  have  such  a  soft  thing  where 
I  was.  I  was  a  clerk  —  that  is,  a  bookkeeper  — 
on  a  salary,  and  I  had  to  work  all  day,  and 
sometimes  nearly  all  night !  " 

He  belittled  his  former  vocation  with  airy 
contempt,  as  if  he  did  not  yearn  for  it  with 
every  fibre  of  his  being,  —  its  utility,  its  compe- 
tence, its  future.  The  recollection  of  the  very 
feel  of  the  fair  smooth  paper  under  his  hand, 
the  delicate  hair-line  chirography  trailing  off  so 
fast  from  the  swift  pen,  could  wring  a  pang 
from  him.  He  might  even  have  esteemed  an 
oath  more  binding  sworn  on  a  ledger  than  on 
the  New  Testament. 

"  And  we  were  a  small  house,  anyway,  and 
the  salary  was  no  great  shakes,"  he  continued 
jauntily,  to  show  how  little  he  had  to  regret. 

"  An'  now  ye  ain't  got  nuthin'  ter  do  but  ter 
read  yer  book,"  said  the  mountaineer  acquies- 
cently, realizing,  in  spite  of  his  clumsy  mental 
processes,  how  the  thorn  pierced  the  bosom 
pressed  against  it. 


80     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

Selwyn  followed  his  guest's  glance  to  the 
shelf  of  volumes  with  an  unaffected  indifference. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  care  for  it.  I  wish  I  did, 
since  I  have  the  time.  But  the  liking  for  books 
has  to  be  cultivated,  like  a  taste  for  beer ;  they 
are  both  a  deal  too  sedative  for  me !  "  The 
laugh  that  ensued  was  choked  with  a  cough,  and 
the  tactless  Hanway  was  moved  to  expostulate. 

"  I  wonder  ye  ain't  'feared  ter  be  hyar  all  by 
yerse'f  hevin'  the  lung  complaint." 

"  Why,  man  alive,  I  'm  well,  or  so  near  it 
there 's  no  use  talking.  I  could  go  home  to- 
morrow, except,  as  I  have  had  the  house  built, 
I  think  I  'd  better  stay  the  winter  in  it.  But 
before  the  cold  weather  comes  on  they  are  going 
to  send  up  a  darky  to  look  after  me.  I  only 
hope  /  won't  have  to  wait  on  him,  —  awful  lazy 
nigger !  He  used  to  be  a  porter  of  ours.  Loaf- 
ing around  these  woods  with  a  gun  on  his  shoul- 
der, pretending  to  hunt,  will  be  just  about  his 
size.  He  's  out  of  a  job  now,  and  comes  cheap. 
I  couldn't  afford  to  pay  him  wages  all  the  time, 
but  winter  is  winter." 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  fire ; 
then  Hanway,  gloomily  brooding  and  disturbed, 
for  the  conversation  had  impressed  him  much  as 
if  it  had  been  post-mortem,  so  immediate  seemed 
his  companion's  doom,  felt  Selwyn's  eye  upon 
him,  as  if  his  sentiment  were  so  obvious  that  the 
sense  of  sight  had  detected  it. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     81 

"  You  think  I  'm  going  to  die  up  here  all  by 
myself.  New  I  tell  you,  my  good  fellow,  dying 
is  the  very  last  thing  that  I  expect  to  do." 

He  broke  out  laughing  anew,  and  this  time 
he  did  not  cough. 

Hanway  could  not  at  once  cover  his  confu- 
sion. He  looked  frowningly  down  at  the  steam 
rising  from  his  great  cowhide  boots,  out- 
stretched as  they  dried  in  the  heat  of  the  fire, 
and  slowly  shifted  them  one  above  the  other. 
The  flush  on  his  sunburned  cheek  rose  to  the 
roots  of  his  dark  hair,  and  overspread  his 
clumsy  features.  His  appearance  did  not  give 
token  of  any  very  great  delicacy  of  feeling,  but 
he  regretted  his  transparency,  and  sought  to 
nullify  it. 

"  Not  that,"  he  said  disingenuously ;  "  but 
bein'  all  by  yerse'f,  I  wonder  ye  ain't  willin'  fur 
the  county  road  ter  be  put  through.  'T  would 
run  right  by  yer  gate,  an'  ye  could  h'ist  the 
winder  an'  talk  to  the  folks  passin'.  Ye 
would  n't  be  lonely  never." 

For  the  first  time  Selwyn  looked  like  a  man 
of  business.  His  eyes  grew  steady.  His  face 
was  firm  and  serious  and  non-committal.  He 
said  nothing.  Hanway  cleared  his  throat  and 
crossed  his  legs  anew.  The  thought  of  his  true 
intention  in  coming  hither,  not  his  ostensible 
errand,  had  recurred  more  than  once  to  his 


82      The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

mind,  —  to  lay  bare  the  secret  touching  the  visi- 
tor to  Selwyn's  remote  dwelling,  whom  he  could 
not  or  would  not  identify ;  and  if  there  were 
aught  amiss,  as  the  mountaineer  suspected,  to 
take  such  action  thereupon  as  in  the  fullness  of 
his  own  good  judgment  seemed  fit.  But  since 
the  man  was  evidently  so  sharp,  Hanway  had 
hitherto  feared  even  indirectly  to  trench  upon 
it ;  here,  however,  the  opening  was  so  natural, 
so  propitious,  that  he  was  fain  to  take  advantage 
of  it. 

"  An'  see,"  he  resumed,  "  what  dangers  kem 
o'  hevin'  no  road.  That  thar  man  what  war 
killed  las'  month,  ef  we  hed  bed  a  reg'lar  county 
road,  worked  on  an'  kep'  open,  stiddier  this 
hyar  herder's  trail,  this-a-way  an'  that,  he  could 
hev  rid  along  ez  free  an'  favored,  an'  "  — 

"Why,"  Selwyn  broke  in,  "the  testimony 
was  to  the  effect  that  he  was  riding  a  young, 
skittish  horse,  which  was  startled  by  stray  hogs 
breaking  at  a  dead  run  through  the  bushes,  and 
that  the  horse  bolted  and  ran  away.  And  the 
man  died  from  concussion  of  the  brain.  That 
would  have  happened  if  we  had  had  a  road  of  the 
first  class,  twenty  feet  wide,  instead  of  this  little 
seven-foot  freak  you  all  are  so  mashed  on." 

His  face  had  not  lost  a  tinge  of  its  brilliant 
color.  His  animated  eyes  were  still  fired  by 
that  inward  flame  that  was  consuming  his  years, 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     83 

his  days,  even  his  minutes,  it  might  seem.  His 
hands,  fine,  white,  and  delicate,  were  thrust 
jauntily  into  the  pockets  of  his  red  jacket,  and 
Hanway  felt  himself  no  nearer  the  heart  of  the 
mystery  than  before.  The  subject,  evidently, 
was  not  avoided,  held  naught  of  menace.  He 
went  at  it  directly. 

"  Seems  strange  he  war  a-comin'  ter  visit  you- 
uns,  an'  hed  yer  mail  in  his  pocket,  an'  ye  never 
seen  him  afore,"  he  hazarded,  "  nor  knowed  who 
he  war." 

"  But  I  have  found  out  since,"  Selwyn  said, 
his  clear  eyes  resting  on  his  visitor  without  the 
vestige  of  an  affrighted  thought.  "  He  was  Mr. 
Keith,  a  chemist  from  Glaston  ;  he  was  quite  a 
notable  authority  on  matters  of  physical  science 
generally.  I  had  written  to  him  about  —  about 
some  points  of  interest  in  the  mountains,  and  as 
he  was  at  leisure  he  concluded  to  come  and 
investigate  —  and  —  take  a  holiday.  He  did  n't 
let  me  know,  and  as  I  had  never  seen  him  I 
did  n't  at  first  even  imagine  it  was  he." 

There  was  a  silence.  Selwyn's  blue  eyes 
dwelt  on  the  fast-descending  lines  of  rain  that 
now  blurred  all  view  of  the  mountains  ;  the 
globular  drops  here  and  there  adhering  to  the 
pane,  ever  dissolving  and  ever  renewed,  ob- 
scured even  the  small  privilege  of  a  glimpse  of 
the  dooryard.  The  continual  beat  on  the  roof 


84     The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

had  the  regularity  and  the  tireless  suggestion  of 
machinery. 

"  How  did  ye  find  out  ?  "  demanded  Han  way, 
his  theory  evaporating  into  thin  air. 

"  Why,  as  he  did  n't  reply  to  my  letter  about 
a  matter  of  such  importance  "  —  he  checked 
himself  suddenly,  then  went  on  more  slowly  — 
"  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  might  have  decided 
to  come,  and  might  have  been  the  man  who  was 
killed.  So  I  wrote  to  his  brother.  He  had  not 
been  expected  at  home  earlier.  His  brother 
doesn't  incline  to  the  foul-play  theory.  The 
horse  he  rode  is  a  wild  young  animal  that  has 
run  away  two  or  three  times.  He  had  been 
warned  repeatedly  against  riding  that  horse,  but 
he  thought  him  safe  enough.  The  horse  has  re- 
turned home,  —  got  there  the  day  my  letter  was 
received.  So  the  brother  and  an  officer  came 
and  exhumed  the  body :  he  was  buried,  you 
know,  after  the  inquest,  over  in  the  little  grave- 
yard yonder  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain." 

Selwyn  shivered  slightly,  and  the  fine  white 
hands  came  out  of  the  gaudy  red  pockets,  and 
fastened  the  frogs  beneath  the  lapels  across  his 
chest,  to  draw  the  smoking-jacket  closer. 

"  Great  Scott !  what  a  fate,  —  to  be  left  in 
that  desolate  burying-ground  !  Death  is  death, 
there." 

"  Death  is  death  anywhar,"  said  the  moun- 
taineer gloomily. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    85 

"  No.  Get  you  a  mile  or  two  of  iron  fence, 
and  stone  gates,  and  lots  of  sculptured  marble 
angels  around,  and  death  is  peace,  or  rest,  or 
heaven,  or  paradise,  according  to  your  creed 
and  the  taste  of  the  subject ;  but  here  you  are 
done  for  and  dead." 

Hanway,  in  the  limited  experience  of  the 
mountaineer,  could  not  follow  the  theory,  and 
he  forbore  to  press  it  further. 

"  Well,"  Selwyn  resumed,  "  they  took  him 
home,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  him  go.  I  was 
glad  to  see  them  filling  that  hole  up.  I  took  a 
pious  interest  in  that.  I  should  have  felt  it  was 
waiting  for  me.  I  shoveled  some  of  the  earth 
back  myself." 

The  wind  surged  around  the  house,  and  shook 
the  outer  doors.  The  rain  trampled  on  the  roof 
like  a  squadron  of  cavalry.  With  his  fate 
standing  ever  behind  him,  almost  visibly  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder,  although  he  saw  it  not, 
the  valley  man  was  a  pathetic  object  to  the 
mountaineer.  Hanway's  eyes  were  hot  and 
burned  as  he  looked  at  him  ;  if  he  had  been  but 
a  little  younger,  they  might  have  held  tears. 
But  Hanway  had  passed  by  several  years  his 
majority,  and  esteemed  himself  exempt  from 
boyish  softness. 

Selwyn  shook  off  the  impression  with  a 
shiver,  and  bent  forward  to  mend  the  fire. 


86    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  Where  were  you  yesterday  ? "  he  asked, 
seeking  a  change  of  subject. 

"  At  home  sowin'  turnip  seed,  mos'ly.  I 
never  hearn  nuthin'  'bout'n  it  all." 

Selwyn  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  his 
brow  corrugated  impatiently  at  this  renewal  of 
the  theme,  and  in  the  emergency  he  even  re- 
sorted to  the  much-mooted  point  of  the  thor- 
oughfare. 

"  I  suppose  all  the  family  there  are  dead 
gone  on  that  road?"  he  sought  to  make  talk. 

"  Dad  an'  aunt  M'nervy  don't  keer  one  way 
nor  another,  but  my  sister  air  plumb  beset  fur 
the  jury  of  view  to  put  it  through." 

"  Why  ?  "  Selwyn  had  a  mental  vision  of 
some  elderly,  thrifty  mountain  darne  with  a 
long  head  turned  toward  the  enhancement  of 
the  values  of  a  league  or  so  of  mountain  land. 

Hanway,  slow  and  tenacious  of  impressions, 
could  not  so  readily  rouse  a  vital  interest  in  an- 
other subject.  He  still  gazed  with  melancholy 
eyes  at  the  fire,  and  his  heart  felt  heavy  and 
sore. 

"  Waal,"  he  answered  mechanically,  "  she 
'lows  she  wants  ter  see  the  folks  go  up  an' 
down,  an'  up  an'  down." 

Selwyn's  blue  eyes  opened.  "  Folks  ? "  he 
asked  wonderingly.  The  rarest  of  apparitions 
on  Witch-Face  Mountain  were  "  folks." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.   87 

Hanway  roused  himself  slightly,  and  rau- 
cously cleared  his  throat  to  explain. 

"  She  'lows  thar  '11  be  cornsider'ble  passin'. 
Folks,  in  the  fall  o'  the  year,  mought  be  a-wag- 
onin'  of  chestnuts  over  the  mounting  an'  down 
ter  Colb'ry ;  an'  thar 's  the  Quarterly  Court 
days ;  some  attends,  leastwise  the  jestices ;  an' 
whenst  they  hev  preachin'  in  the  Cove ;  an' 
wunst  in  a  while  thar  mought  be  a  camp- 
meetin'.  She  sets  cornsider'ble  store  on  lookin' 
at  the  folks  ez  will  go  up  an'  down." 

There  was  a  swift  movement  in  the  pupils  of 
the  valley  man's  eyes.  It  was  an  expression 
closely  correlated  to  laughter,  but  the  muscles 
of  his  face  were  still,  and  he  remained  decor- 
ously grave. 

There  was  some  thought  in  his  mind  that  held 
him  doubtful  for  a  moment.  His  craft  was 
cautious  of  its  kind,  and  his  manner  was  quite 
incidental  as  he  said,  "  And  the  others  of  the 
family?" 

"  Thar  ain't  no  others,"  returned  Hanway, 
stolidly  unmarking. 

"  Oh,  so  you  are  the  eldest  ?  " 

"By  five  year.  Narcissa  ain't  more  'n  jes' 
turned  eighteen." 

The  valley  man's  face  was  flushed  more 
deeply  still;  his  brilliant  eyes  were  elated. 

"  Narcissa !  "  he  cried,  with  the  joy  of  de- 


88    The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

lighted  identification.  "  She  is  the  girl,  then, 
that  testified  at  the  inquest.  Narcissa  !  " 

Hanway  lifted  his  head,  with  a  strong  look  of 
surly  objection  on  his  heavy  features.  Selwyn 
noted  it  with  a  glow  of  growing  anger.  He  felt 
that  he  had  said  naught  amiss.  People  could 
not  expect  their  sisters  to  escape  attracting 
notice,  especially  a  sister  with  a  remarkable 
name  and  endowed  with  a  face  like  this  one's. 

"Narcissa, — that's  an  odd  name,"  he  said, 
partly  in  bravado,  and  partly  in  justification  of 
the  propriety  of  his  previous  mention  of  her. 
"  I  knew  a  man  once  named  Narcissus.  Must 
be  the  feminine  of  Narcissus.  Good  name  for 
her,  though."  The  recollection  of  the  white 
flower-like  face,  the  corolla  of  red-gold  hair, 
came  over  him.  "  Looks  just  like  'em." 

Hanway,  albeit  all  alert  now,  descried  in  this 
naught  more  poetical  than  the  fact  that  Selwyn 
considered  that  his  sister  resembled  a  man  of 
his  acquaintance.  As  for  that  fairest  of  all 
spring  flowers,  it  had  never  gladdened  the 
backwoods  range  of  his  vision. 

The  exclusive  tendency  of  the  human  mind  is 
tested  by  this  discovery  of  a  casual  resemblance 
to  a  stranger.  One  invariably  sustains  an  af- 
front at  its  mention.  Whatever  one's  exterior 
may  be,  it  possesses  the  unique  merit  of  being 
one's  own,  and  the  aversion  to  share  its  traits 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     89 

with  another,  and  that  other  a  stranger,  is  uni- 
versal. In  this  instance  the  objection  was 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  stranger  was  a 
man  ;  ergo,  in  Hanway's  opinion,  more  or  less 
clumsy  and  burly  and  ugly ;  the  masculine  type 
of  his  acquaintance  presenting  to  his  mind  few 
of  the  superior  elements  of  beauty.  He  resented 
the  liberty  the  stranger  took  in  resembling  Nar- 
cissa,  and  he  resented  still  more  Selwyn's 
effrontery  in  discovering  the  likeness. 

"  Not  ez  much  alike  ez  two  black-eyed  peas, 
now.  I  reckon  not,  —  I  reckon  not,"  he  sneered, 
as  he  rose  to  bring  his  visit  to  an  end. 

His  host's  words  of  incipient  surprise  were 
checked  as  Hanway  slowly  drew  forth  from  his 
pocket  a  letter. 

"Old  man  Binney  war  at  the  Cross-Roads 
Sad'day,  an'  he  fetched  up  some  mail  fur  the 
neighbors.  He  lef  this  letter  fur  you-uns  at 
our  house,  'lowiu'  ez  I  would  fetch  it  over." 

Selwyn  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  He  felt  that 
severe  reprehension  and  distrust  which  a  man 
of  business  always  manifests  upon  even  the 
most  trifling  interference  with  his  vested  rights 
in  his  own  mail  matter.  The  rural  method  of 
aiding  in  distributing  the  mail  was  peculiarly 
unpalatable  to  him.  He  much  preferred  that 
his  letters  should  lie  in  the  post-office  at  the 
Cross-Roads  until  such  time  as  it  suited  his  con- 


90     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

venience  'to  saddle  his  horse  and  ride  thither  for 
them.  The  postmaster,  on  the  contrary,  seized 
the  opportunity  whenever  responsible  parties 
were  "ridin'  up  inter  the  mounting"  to  entrust 
to  them  the  neighborhood  mail,  thus  expediting 
its  delivery  perhaps  by  three  weeks,  or  even 
more,  and  receiving  in  every  instance  the  bene- 
diction of  his  distant  beneficiaries  of  the  back- 
woods. 

"  I  '11  write  to  the  postmaster  this  very  day !  " 
Selwyn  thought,  as  he  tore  the  envelope  open 
and  mastered  its  contents  at  a  swift  glance.  A 
half -suppressed  but  delighted  excitement  shone 
suddenly  in  his  eyes,  and  smoothed  every  line 
of  agitation  and  anxiety  from  his  brow. 

"  I  'm  a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you  for 
bringing  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  for  staying 
awhile  and  talking !  I  wish  you  would  come 
again.  But  I  'm  coming  to  see  you,  to  return 
your  call."  He  laughed  gayly  at  the  sophisti- 
cated phrase.  "  Coming  soon." 

Hanway's  growl  of  pretended  pleasure  in  the 
prospect  was  rendered  nearly  inarticulate  by  the 
thought  of  Narcissa.  He  had  not  anticipated  a 
return  of  the  courtesy.  He  had  no  welcome  for 
this  stranger,  and  somehow  he  felt  that  he  did 
not  altogether  understand  Narcissa  at  times ; 
that  she  had  nights  of  fancy  which  were  beyond 
him,  and  took  a  mischievous  pleasure  in  tanta- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     91 

lizing  him,  and  was  freakish  and  hard  to  con- 
trol. 

Moreover,  under  the  influence  of  this  reaction 
of  feeling,  a  modicum  of  his  doubts  of  Selwyn 
had  revived.  Not  that  he  suspected  him,  as 
heretofore,  but  a  phrase  that  had  earlier  struck 
his  attention  came  back  to  him.  Selwyn  had 
written,  he  said,  to  the  traveler  to  come  and 
"  investigate,"  and  he  had  hesitated  and  chosen 
his  phrases,  and  half  discarded  them,  and  slurred 
over  his  statement.  What  was  there  to  "  inves- 
tigate "  in  the  mountains?  What  prospect  of 
profit  worth  a  long,  lonely  journey  and  a  risk 
that  ended  in  death?  The  capture  of  moon- 
shiners was  said  to  be  a  paying  business,  and  an 
informer  also  reaped  a  reward.  Hanway  won- 
dered if  Con  Hite  could  be  the  point  of  "  inves- 
tigation," if  the  dead  man  were  indeed  of  the 
revenue  force. 

"  Oh,  you  need  n't  shut  the  door  on  me," 
Selwyn  said,  as  they  stood  together  in  the  pas- 
sage, and  Hanway,  with  his  instinct  to  cut  him 
off,  had  made  a  motion  to  draw  the  door  after 
him ;  "  this  mountain  air  is  so  bland,  even  when 
it  is  damp."  He  paused  on  the  dripping  thresh- 
old, with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  red 
jacket,  and  surveyed  with  smiling  complacence 
the  forlorn,  weeping  day,  and  the  mountains 
cowering  under  their  misty  veil,  and  the  sodden 


92     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

dooryard,  and  the  wild  rocks  and  chasms  of  the 
gorge,  adown  the  trough  of  which  a  stream 
unknown  to  the  dry  weather  was  tumbling  with 
a  suggestion  of  flight  and  trouble  and  fear  in  its 
precipitancy.  "  I  'm  well,  well  as  a  bear ;  and 
I  'm  getting  fat  as  a  bear,  doing  nothing.  Feel 
my  arm.  I  'm  just  following  the  example  of  the 
bears  about  this  time  of  the  year,  —  hibernating, 
going  into  winter  quarters.  I'm  going  to  get 
this  place  into  good  shape  to  sell  some  day.  I 
have  bought  that  land  over  there  all  down  the 
gorge  from  Squire  Helm ;  and  last  July  I 
bought  all  that  slope  at  the  tax  sale,  but  that 
is  subject  to  redemption  ;  and  then  I  am  trying 
to  buy  in  the  rear  of  my  wigwam,  too,  —  a  thou- 
sand acres." 

"  Ye   kin  sell   it   higher   ef   the   road   goes 
through,"  said  Hanway  doubtfully. 

It  seemed  very  odd  that  the  man  who  pro- 
tested that  his  stay  in  the  mountains  was  so  tem- 
porary, and  whose  stay  in  the  world  was  evidently 
so  short,  should  spend  his  obviously  scanty  sub- 
stance in  purchase  after  purchase  of  the  worth- 
less mountain  wilderness.  To  be  sure,  the  land 
was  cheap,  but  it  cost  something.  And  Hanway 
looked  again  at  the  frayed  cuffs  and  elbows  of 
the  red  smoking-jacket.  In  his  infrequent  visits 
to  Colbury,  he  had  noted  the  variance  of  the 
men's  costumes  with  the  mountain  standard  of 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     93 

dress.  He  saw  naught  like  this,  but  he  knew 
that  if  ever  the  sober  burghers  lent  themselves 
to  this  sort  of  fantastic  toggery,  it  was  certainly 
whole. 

"  Say,  my  friend,  what  day  does  the  jury  of 
view  hold  forth?  "  Selwyn  called  out  after  the 
slouching  figure,  striped  with  the  diagonal  lines 
of  rain  and  flouted  by  the  wind,  tramping  across 
the  weeds  of  the  yard  to  his  horse. 

"Nex'  Chewsday  week,"  Hanway  responded 
hoarsely. 

"  Well,  if  this  weather  holds  out,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  are  web- 
footed  !  "  Selwyn  exclaimed. 

He  shut  the  door,  and  as  he  went  back  to  his 
lonely  hearth  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  letter  lying 
on  the  table. 

"Now,"  he  said  as  he  took  it  again  in  his 
hand,  "  if  fate  should  truly  cut  such  a  caper  as 
to  make  my  fortune  in  this  forlorn  exile,  I  could 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  laugh  the  longest  and  the 
loudest  at  the  joke." 

VI. 

If  it  had  been  within  the  power  of  the  wor- 
shipful Quarterly  County  Court  to  issue  a  man- 
damus to  compel  fair  weather  on  that  notable 
Tuesday  when  the  jury  of  view  were  to  set  forth, 
the  god  of  day  could  scarcely  have  obeyed  with 


94     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

more  alacrity  that  peremptory  writ  once  poeti- 
cally ranked  as  "  one  of  the  flowers  of  the 
crown."  The  burnished  yellow  sunshine  had 
a  suggestion  of  joyous  exuberance  in  its  wide 
suffusions.  Even  the  recurrent  fluctuations  of 
shadow  but  gave  its  pervasive  sheen  the  effect  of 
motion  and  added  embellishment.  The  wind, 
hilarious,  loud,  piping  gayly  a  tuneful  stave, 
shepherded  the  clouds  in  the  fair  fields  of  the 
high  sky,  driving  the  flocculent  white  masses 
here  and  there  as  listed  a  changing  will.  The 
trees  were  red  and  yellow,  the  leaves  firm,  full- 
fleshed,  as  if  the  ebbing  sap  of  summer  still  ran 
high  in  every  fibre ;  their  tint  seemed  no  hectic 
dying  taint,  but  some  inherent  chromatic  rich- 
ness. Fine  avenues  the  eye  might  open  amongst 
the  rough  brown  boles  that  stood  in  dense  ranks, 
preternaturally  dark  and  distinct,  washed  by  the 
recent  rains,  and  thrown  into  prominence  by  the 
masses  of  yellow  and  red  leaves  carpeting  the 
ground,  and  the  red  and  yellow  boughs  hanging 
low  above.  They  dispensed  to  the  light,  clarified 
air  an  aromatic  richness  that  the  lungs  rejoiced 
to  breathe,  and  all  their  flare  of  color  might  have 
seemed  adequate  illumination  of  their  demesne 
without  serving  writs  of  mandamus  on  the  sun ; 
and  indeed,  the  Quarterly  County  Court  was 
fain  to  concern  itself  with  far  lesser  matters, 
and  wield  slighter  weapons.  The  jury  of  view, 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     95 

in  a  close  squad,  ambling  along  at  an  easy  gait, 
mounted  on  nags  as  diverse  in  appearance,  age, 
and  manner  as  the  riders,  sufficiently  expressed 
its  authority  and  their  own  diligence  in  its  be- 
hests, and  their  spirits  had  risen  to  the  propi- 
tious aspect  of  the  weather  and  the  occasion. 
Their  advent  into  this  secluded  region  of  the  dis- 
trict —  for  to  secure  a  strict  impartiality  they 
were  not  of  the  immediate  neighborhood,  and 
had  no  interest  which  could  be  affected  by  their 
report  —  was  not  hailed  with  universal  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  Jes'  look  at  'em,  now,"  said  old  man  Binney, 
as  he  stood  in  his  door,  leaning  on  his  stick,  to 
watch  them  pass,  —  "a  jury  o'  view.  An'  who 
ever  viewed  a  jury  a-horseback  afore  ?  An'  thar 
ain't  but  seben  on  'em  !  "  —  laboriously  counting, 
"  five,  six,  seben.  Thar 's  twelve  men  on  a  sure 
enough  jury !  I  counted  the  panel  ez  hung  Eze- 
kiel  Tilbuts  fur  a-murderin'  of  his  wife.  I  war 
thar  in  town  whenst  they  fetched  in  thar  ver- 
dic'.  I  dunno  what  the  kentry  be  a-comin'  ter ! 
Shucks !  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  abide  by  the  say-so 
o'  no  sech  skimpy  jury  ez  this  hyar.  I  '11  go  ter 
town  an'  see  old  Lawyer  Gryce  'bout  it,  fust." 

And  with  this  extremest  threat  of  vengeance 
he  brought  his  stick  down  on  the  floor  with  so 
vigorous  a  thump  that  it  had  a  certain  profane 
effect ;  then  having  from  under  his  bushy  gray 


96     The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

eyebrows  gazed  at  the  diminishing  group  till  it 
was  but  a  dim  speck  in  the  distance,  he  went  in 
muttering,  banging  the  door  as  if  to  shut  out  and 
reject  the  sight.  His  objection  might  have  been 
intensified  had  he  known  that  the  days  were  at 
hand  when  legislative  wisdom  would  still  further 
reduce  this  engine  of  the  law,  making  it  consist 
of  one  road  commissioner  and  two  freeholders, 
the  trio  still  pridefully  denominated  a  "jury  of 
view." 

Others,  however,  favoring  the  enterprise,  cheer- 
fully fell  into  the  line  of  march  ;  and  as  the  way 
lengthened  the  cavalcade  grew,  mustering  re- 
cruits as  it  went. 

Disputatious  voices  suddenly  sounded  loud  on 
the  clear  air  in  front  of  them,  mingled  with  the 
thud  of  horses'  hoofs,  the  jingle  of  spurs,  and 
now  and  again  the  whinny  of  a  colt ;  and  at  the 
intersection  of  the  trail  with  a  narrow  winding 
path  there  rode  into  view  old  "  Persimmon " 
Sneed,  —  as  he  was  sometimes  disrespectfully 
nicknamed,  owing  to  a  juvenile  and  voracious 
fondness  for  the  most  toothsome  delicacy  of  au- 
tumn woods,  —  arguing  loudly,  and  with  a  lordly 
intolerance  of  contradiction,  with  two  men  who 
accompanied  him,  while  his  sleek  claybank  mare 
also  argued  loudly  with  her  colt.  She  had  much 
ado  to  pace  soberly  forward,  even  under  the  coer- 
cion of  whip  and  spur,  while  her  madcap  scion 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  97 

galloped  wildly  ahead  or  lagged  far  in  the  rear, 
and  made  now  and  then  excursions  into  the 
woods,  out  of  sight,  to  gratify  some  adolescent 
curiosity,  or  perhaps,  after  the  fashion  of  other 
and  human  adolescents,  to  relish  the  spectacle 
of  the  maternal  anxiety.  Ever  and  anon  the 
sound  of  the  mare's  troubled  call  rang  on  the 
air.  Then  the  colt  would  come  with  a  burst  of 
speed,  a  turbulent  rush,  out  of  the  underbrush, 
and,  with  its  keen  head-tones  of  a  whinny,  all 
funnily  treble  and  out  of  tune,  dash  on  in  ad- 
vance. The  rider  of  this  preoccupied  steed  was 
a  grizzled,  lank,  thin-visaged  mountaineer,  with 
a  tuft  of  beard  on  his  chin,  but  a  shaven  jowl, 
where,  however,  the  black-and-gray  stubble  of 
several  days'  avoidance  of  the  razor  put  forth  un- 
abashed. He  shook  his  finger  impressively  at 
the  jury  of  view  as  he  approached  them. 

"  Ef  ye  put  this  hyar  road  through  my  land," 
he  said  solemnly,  "  I  '11  be  teetotally  ruinationed. 
The  cattle-thievin'  that  '11  go  on,  with  the  woods 
so  open  an'  the  road  so  convenient,  an'  yit  no 
travel  sca'cely,  will  be  a  scandal  ter  the  jay-bird. 
I  won't  hev  so  much  lef '  ez  the  horn  of  a  muley 
cow!" 

And  with  this  extreme  statement  he  whirled 
his  horse  and  rode  on  at  the  head  of  the  caval- 
cade in  dignified  silence.  He  was  not  a  dweller 
in  the  immediate  vicinity,  but  hailed  from  the 


98    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

Cove,  —  a  man  of  substance  and  a  large  cattle- 
owner,  pasturing  his  herds,  duly  branded,  on  a 
tract  of  unfenced  wilderness,  his  mountain  lands, 
where  they  roamed  in  the  safe  solitudes  of  those 
deep  seclusions  during  the  summer,  and  were 
rounded  up,  well  fattened,  and  driven  home  at 
the  approach  of  winter.  He  was  the  typical  man 
of  convictions,  one  who  entertains  a  serious  belief 
that  he  possesses  a  governing  conscience  instead 
of  an  abiding  delight  in  his  own  way.  He  had  a 
keen  eye,  with  an  upward  glance  from  under  the 
brim  of  his  big  wool  hat,  and  he  looked  alert  to 
descry  any  encroachment  on  his  vested  rights  to 
prescribe  opinion.  The  jury  of  view  were  des- 
tined to  find  it  a  doubtful  boon  that  the  road 
law  interposed  no  insurmountable  obstacle  to 
prevent  their  hearing  thus  informally  the  views 
of  those  interested. 

Persimmon  Sneed's  deep  feeling  on  the  subject 
had  been  evinced  by  his  dispensing  with  the  cus- 
tomary salutations,  and  one  of  the  jury  of  view, 
with  a  mollifying  intention,  observed  that  they 
would  use  their  best  judgment  to  promote  the 
interests  of  all  parties. 

"  Ai-yi !  "  said  Persimmon  Sneed,  ruefully 
shaking  his  head.  "  But  s'pose  ye  hev  got  mighty 
pore  jedgmint  ?  Ye  '11  be  like  mos'  folks  I  know, 
ef  ye  hev.  I  'd  ruther  use  my  own  best  jedgmint, 
a  sight." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  99 

At  which  another  of  the  jury  suavely  remarked 
that  they  would  seek  to  be  impartial. 

"  That 's  jes'  what  I  kem  along  fur,"  exclaimed 
Persimmon  Sneed  triumphantly,  —  "  ter  show  ye 
edzac'ly  whar  the  bull's  eye  be.  Thar  ain't  no 
use  fur  this  road,  an'  ye  air  bound  ter  see  it  ef 
ye  ain't  nowise  one-sided  and  partial." 

The  jury  relapsed  into  silence  and  rode  stead- 
ily on. 

The  true  raw  material  of  contradiction  lay  in 
three  younger  men  among  the  spectators,  contu- 
macious, vehement,  and,  albeit  opposed  to  the 
road,  much  inclined  to  spoke  the  wheel  of  old 
Persimmon  Sneed,  however  that  wheel  might 
revolve. 

"  I  got  caught  on  a  jury  in  a  criminal  case  with 
him  wunst,"  Silas  Boyd,  a  heavy,  thick-set,  tall 
young  fellow  with  a  belligerent  eye  and  a  por- 
tentously square  jaw,  said  sotto  voce  to  his  next 
comrade.  "  I  hev  sarved  on  a  jury  with  him, 
—  locked  up  fur  a  week  'thout  no  verdic'.  He 
ain't  got  no  respec'  fur  no  other  man's  say-so. 
An'  he  talks  'bout  his  oath  ezef  he  war  the  only 
man  in  Tennessee  ez  ever  war  swore  on  the  '  Holy 
Evangelists  o'  Almighty  Gawd '  in  the  court- 
house. He  fairly  stamped  on  my  feelin's,  in  that 
Jenkins  case,  ter  make  me  agree  with  him  ;  but 
I  could  n't  agree,  an'  it  hung  the  jury,  ez  they  say. 
I  wisht  they  hed  hung  the  foreman  !  By  Hokey, 
I  despise  a  hard-headed,  'pinionated  man." 


100   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  Look  at  his  back,"  rejoined  Jeremiah  Sayres, 
a  man  of  theory,  who  had  a  light  undecided  tint 
of  hair  and  beard  and  scraggy  mustache,  and  a 
blond  complexion  burned  a  permanent  solid  red 
by  the  summer  sun.  "  I  'd  know  his  disposi- 
tions by  his  back."  He  waved  his  hand  at  the 
brown  jeans  coat  that  draped  a  spare  and  an- 
gular but  singularly  erect  back,  which  scarcely 
seemed  to  move  in  response  to  the  motions  of  the 
mare  pacing  briskly  along.  "  What  sorter  back 
is  that  fur  a  man  risin'  fifty  year  old  ?  —  straight 
ez  a  ramrod,  an'  ez  stiff.  But,  Silas,  ef  ever 
ye  git  the  better  o'  him,  ye  hev  got  ter  break  it." 

"  I  hearn  his  third  wife  married  him  ter  git 
rid  o'  him,"  put  in  Peter  Sims,  given  to  gossip. 
"  She  'lowed  he  warn't  nigh  so  tarrifyin'  'roun' 
his  own  house,  a-feedin'  the  peegs,  an'  ploughin' 
an'  cuttin'  wood,  an'  sech,  occupied  somehows, 
ez  he  war  a-settin'  up  in  his  Sunday  best  at  her 
house,  with  nuthin'  ter  do,  allowin'  she  hed  ter 
marry  him,  whether  or  not,  'kase  he  wouldn't 
hev  '  No  '  fur  a  answer." 

"An'  look  at  it  now  !  "  exclaimed  Silas  Boyd, 
unexpectedly  reinforced  by  the  matrimonial  phase 
of  the  question.  "  That  thar  man  hev  boda- 
ciously  argued  an'  contradicted  two  wimmin  out'n 
this  vale  o'  tears.  An'  everybody  knows  it  takes 
a  power  o'  contradiction  to  out-do  a  woman.  He 
oughter  be  indicted  for  cold-blooded  murder ! 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  101 

That 's  what !  "  He  nodded  vindictively  at  the 
straight  jeans-clad  back  in  advance  of  him. 

Over  and  again  the  party  called  a  halt,  to  push 
about  in  search  of  a  practicable  seven-foot  pas- 
sage amongst  crags  and  chasms,  and  to  contend 
with  the  various  insistence  touching  devious  ways 
preferred  by  the  honorary  attendants,  who  often 
seemed  to  forget  that  they  themselves  were  not  in 
the  exercise  of  a  delegated  jury  duty.  Tangles 
impeded,  doubts  beset  them,  although  the  axe 
by  which  the  desired  route  had  been  blazed  out 
aforetime  by  the  petitioners  had  been  zealous  and 
active ;  but  the  part  of  a  pioneer  in  a  primeval 
wilderness  is  indeed  the  threading  of  a  clueless 
labyrinth,  and  both  sun  and  compass  were  con- 
sulted often  before  the  continued  direction  of  the 
road  could  be  determined  and  located. 

In  such  cases,  to  the  lovers  of  the  consistent 
in  character,  the  respective  traits  of  old  Persim- 
mon Sneed  and  Silas  Boyd  were  displayed  in  all 
their  pristine  value  ;  for  although  their  interests 
were  identical,  both  being  opposed  to  the  open- 
ing of  the  road,  the  dictatorial  arrogations  of  the 
elder  man  and  the  pugnacious  persistence  of  the 
younger  served  to  antagonize  them  on  many  a 
minor  point  in  question,  subsidiary  to  the  main 
issue,  as  definitely  as  if  they  were  each  arrayed 
against  the  other,  instead  of  both  being  in  arms 
under  the  "  No  Road  "  banner. 


102  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"Mighty  nigh  ez  interestin'  ez  a  dog-fight," 
said  Jeremiah  Sayres  in  an  aside  to  one  of  the 

jury- 
Midday  found  them  considerably  advanced  on 

their  way,  but  brought  to  a  halt  by  an  insistence 
on  the  part  of  Silas  Boyd  that  the  road  should 
be  diverted  from  a  certain  depression  showing 
marshy  tendencies  to  a  rugged  slope  where  the 
footing  was  dry  but  difficult. 

"  That 's  under  water  more  'n  haffen  the  win- 
ter, I  '11  take  my  everlastin'  oath.  Ef  the  road 
runs  thar,  that  piece  will  take  enough  mendin'  in 
a  season  ter  keep  up  ten  mile  o'  dry  road,"  he 
argued  vehemently. 

"Water  ain't  dangersome,  nowise,"  retorted 
the  elderly  Persimmon,  with  a  snarling  smile. 
"  Healthier  'n  whiskey,  my  frien',  —  heap  health- 
ier 'n  whiskey." 

Boyd's  serious  countenance  colored  darkly  red 
with  wrath.  Among  the  aggressive  virtues  of  old 
Persimmon  Sneed  were  certain  whiskey-proof 
temperance  principles,  the  recollection  of  which 
was  peculiarly  irritating  to  Silas  Boyd,  known 
to  be  more  than  ordinarily  susceptible  to  proof 
whiskey. 

"  I  be  a  perfessin'  Baptis',  Mr.  Sneed,"  he  re- 
torted quickly.  "  I  got  no  objection  ter  water, 
'ceptin'  fur  the  onregenerate  an'  spurners  o'  sal- 
vation." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  103 

Now  Persimmon  Sneed  had  argued  the  plan 
of  atonement  on  every  possible  basis  known  to 
his  extremely  limited  polemical  outlook,  and 
could  agree  with  none.  If  any  sect  of  eclectics 
had  been  within  his  reach,  he  would  most  joyfully 
have  cast  his  spiritual  fortunes  with  them,  for  he 
felt  himself  better  than  very  many  conspicuous 
Christians  ;  and  as  he  would  have  joyed  in  a  pose 
of  sanctity,  the  reproach  of  being  a  member  of  no 
church  touched  him  deeply. 

"  I  ain't  no  ransomed  saint,  I  know,"  he  vocif- 
erated, —  "I  ain't  no  ransomed  saint !  But  ef  the 
truth  war  known,  ye  ain't  got  no  religion  nuther  ! 
That  leetle  duckin'  ez  ye  call  '  immersion '  jes' 
diluted  the  'riginal  sin  in  ye  mighty  leetle.  Ye 
air  a  toler'ble  strong  toddy  o'  iniquity  yit.  That 
thar  water  tempered  the  whiskey  ye  drink  mighty 
leetle,  —  mighty  leetle  ! " 

The  Christian  grace  of  Silas  Boyd  was  put  to 
a  stronger  test  than  it  might  have  been  deemed 
capable  of  sustaining.  But  Sneed  was  a  far 
older  man,  and  as  nothing  short  of  breaking 
his  stiff  neck  might  suffice  to  tame  him,  Silas 
Boyd  summoned  his  self-control,  and  held  his 
tingling  hands,  and  gave  himself  only  to  retort. 

"  I  would  n't  take  that  off'n  ye,  Mr.  Sneed, 
'ceptin'  I  be  a  perfessin'  member,  an'  pity  them 
ez  is  still  in  the  wiles  an'  delusions  o'  Satan." 

What  might  have   ensued  in  the  nature  of 


104  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

counterthrust,  as  Persimmon  Sneed  heard  him- 
self called  by  inference  an  object  of  pity,  the 
subsidiary  group  were  spared  from  learning,  for 
at  that  moment  the  sound  of  steps  heralded  an 
approach,  and  Ben  Hanway  came  into  the  circle, 
and  sought  to  claim  the  attention  of  the  party, 
inviting  them  to  dine  and  pass  the  nooning 
hour  at  his  house.  His  countenance  was  ad- 
justed to  the  smile  of  hospitality,  but  it  wore 
the  expression  like  a  mask,  and  he  seemed  ill  at 
ease.  He  had  been  contending  all  the  morning 
with  Narcissa's  freakishness,  which  he  thought 
intensified  by  the  presence  of  the  valley  man, 
who  was  returning  the  civility  of  that  ill-omened 
visit,  and  who,  by  reason  of  the  abnormal  ex- 
citements of  the  day,  had  been  received  with 
scant  formality,  and  was  already  upon  the  foot- 
ing of  a  familiar  friend.  Selwyn  stood  smil- 
ingly in  the  way  hard  by,  speaking  to  those  of 
the  men  as  they  passed  who  gave  his  presence 
the  meed  of  a  start  and  a  stare  of  blank  sur- 
prise, or  a  curt  nod.  Narcissa  lingered  in  the 
background,  beneath  a  great  oak ;  her  chin  was 
a  little  lifted  with  a  touch  of  displeasure ;  the 
eyelids  drooped  over  her  brown  eyes ;  her  hands, 
with  her  wonted  careless  gesture  and  with  a 
certain  mechanical  effort  to  dispel  embarrass- 
ment, were  raised  to  the  curtain  of  her  white 
sunbonnet,  and  spread  its  folds  wingwise  behind 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.     105 

her  auburn  hair.  Sundry  acquaintances  among 
the  honorary  attendants  paused  to  greet  her 
pleasantly  as  they  passed,  but  old  Sneed's  disap- 
probation of  a  woman's  appearance  on  so  public 
an  occasion  was  plainly  expressed  on  his  features. 
For  all  the  Turks  are  not  in  Turkey.  She  fol- 
lowed with  frowning,  disaffected  eyes  the  pro- 
cession of  men  and  horses  and  dogs  and  colts 
wending  up  to  the  invisible  house  hidden 
amongst  the  full-leaved  autumn  woods. 

"  Well,  that 's  the  jury  of  view ;  and  what  do 
you  think  of  them  ?  "  asked  Selwyn,  watching 
too,  but  smilingly,  the  cavalcade. 

"  Some  similar  ter  the  cor'ner's  jury.  But 
they  hed  suthin'  ter  look  tormented  an'  tribu- 
lated  'bout,"  said  the  girl,  evidently  disappointed 
to  find  the  jury  of  view  not  more  cheerful  of 
aspect.  "  But  mebbe  conversin'  a  passel  by  the 
way  with  old  Persimmon  Sneed  is  powerful 
depressin'  ter  the  sperits." 

Selwyn's  face  grew  grave  at  the  mention  of 
the  coroner's  jury. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  poor  fellow  missed  some- 
thing good,"  he  said. 

Still  holding  out  her  sunbonnet  in  wide  dis- 
tention,  she  slowly  set  forth  along  the  path,  not 
even  turning  back,  for  sheer  perversity,  as  she 
saw  Ben  look  anxiously  over  his  shoulder  to 
descry  if  she  followed  in  the  distance. 


106      The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  good  in  life  nohow.  Things 
seem  set  contrariwise."  Then,  after  a  moment, 
and  turning  her  eyes  upon  him,  for  she  had  an 
almost  personal  interest  in  the  man  whose  tragic 
fate  she  had  first  of  all  discovered,  "  What  sorter 
good  thing  did  he  miss  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  set- 
tled her  sunbonnet  soberly  on  her  head. 

"  Well "  —  Selwyn  began  ;  then  he  hesitated. 
He  had  spoken  rather  than  thought,  for  he 
thought  little,  and  he  was  not  used  to  keeping 
secrets.  Moreover,  despite  his  courageous  dis- 
belief in  his  coming  fate,  he  must  have  had 
some  yearnings  for  sympathy  ;  the  iron  of  his 
exile  surely  entered  his  soul  at  times.  The 
girl,  so  delicately  framed,  so  flower-like  of  face, 
seemed  alien  to  her  rude  surroundings  and  the 
burly,  heavy,  matter-of-fact  folk  about  her.  Her 
spirituelle  presence  did  away  in  a  measure  with 
the  realization  of  her  limitations,  her  ignorance, 
and  the  uncouth  surroundings.  Even  her  dress 
seemed  to  him  hardly  amiss,  for  there  then 
reigned  a  fleeting  metropolitan  fashion  of 
straight  full  flowing  skirts  and  short  waists  and 
closely  fitting  sleeves,  —  a  straining  after  pic- 
ture-like effects  which  Narcissa's  attire  accom- 
plished without  conscious  effort,  the  costume  of 
the  mountain  women  for  a  hundred  years  or 
more.  The  sunbonnet  itself  was  but  the  defen- 
sive appurtenance  of  many  a  Southern  city  girl, 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.      107 

when  a-summering  in  the  country,  who  esteems 
herself  the  possessor  of  a  remarkably  beautiful 
complexion,  and  heroically  proposes  to  conserve 
it.  Unlike  the  men,  Narcissa's  personality  did 
not  suggest  the  distance  between  them  in  sophis- 
tication, in  culture,  in  refinement,  in  the  small 
matters  of  external  polish.  She  seemed  not  so 
far  from  his  world,  and  it  was  long  since  he  had 
walked  fraternally  by  the  side  of  some  fair  girl, 
and  talked  freely  of  himself,  his  views,  his  plans, 
his  vagaries,  as  men,  when  very  young,  are  wont 
to  do,  and  as  they  rarely  talk  to  one  another. 
He  had  so  sedulously  sought  to  content  himself 
with  the  conditions  of  his  closing  existence  that 
the  process  of  reconciling  the  habit  of  better 
things  was  lost  in  simple  acceptance.  He  was 
still  young,  and  the  sun  shone,  and  the  air  was 
clear  and  pure  and  soft,  and  he  walked  by  the 
side  of  a  girl,  fair  and  good  and  not  altogether 
unwise,  and  he  was  happy  in  the  blessings 
vouchsafed. 

After  a  moment  he  replied  :  "  Well,  I  thought 
he  might  have  made  a  lot  of  money.  I  thought 
I  might  go  partners  with  him.  I  had  written 
to  him." 

Her  face  did  not  change ;  it  was  still  grave 
and  solicitous  within  the  white  frame  of  her 
sunbonnet,  but  its  expression  did  not  deepen. 
She  did  not  pity  the  dead  man  because  he  died 


108      The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

without  the  money  he  had  had  a  chance  to  make. 
She  evidently  had  not  even  scant  knowledge  of 
that  most  absorbing  passion,  the  love  of  gain, 
and  she  did  not  value  money. 

"  Somehow  whenst  folks  dies  by  accident,  it 
'pears  ter  me  a  mistake  —  somehows  —  ez  ef 
they  war  choused  out'n  time  what  war  laid  off 
fur  them  an'  their'n  by  right."  Evidently  she 
did  not  lack  sensibility. 

"  Yes,"  he  rejoined,  "  and  you  know  money 
makes  a  lot  of  difference  in  people's  lives  there 
in  the  valley  towns.  Lord  knows,  't  would  in 
mine." 

He  swung  his  riding- whip  dejectedly  to  and 
fro  in  his  hand  as  he  spoke,  and  she  pushed 
back  her  sunbonnet  to  look  seriously  at  him. 
He  was  a  miracle  of  elegance  in  her  estimation, 
but  the  f awn-colored  suit  which  he  wore  owed  its 
nattiness  rather  to  his  own  symmetry  than  the 
cut  or  the  cloth,  and  he  had  worn  it  a  year  ago. 
His  immaculate  linen,  somewhat  flabby,  —  for 
the  mountain  laundress  is  averse  to  starch,  — 
had  been  delicately  trimmed  by  a  deft  pair  of 
scissors  around  the  raveling  edges  of  the  cuffs 
and  collar,  and  showed  rather  what  it  had  been 
than  what  it  was.  His  straw  hat  was  pushed  a 
trifle  back  from  his  face,  in  which  the  sunburn 
and  the  inward  fire  competed  to  lay  on  the  tints. 
She  did  not  see  how  nor  what  he  lacked.  Still, 


27ie  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    109 

if  he  wanted  it,  she  pitied  him  that  he  did  not 
have  it. 

"  Waal,  can't  you-uns  make  it,  the  same 
way  ?  " 

She  asked  this  sympathetically.  She  was  be- 
ginning to  experience  a  certain  self-reproach  in 
regard  to  him,  and  it  gave  her  unwonted  gentle- 
ness. She  felt  that  she  had  been  too  quick  to 
suspect.  Since  Ben's  report  of  the  reconnoitring 
interview  on  which  she  had  sent  him  in  Con 
Kite's  interest,  she  had  dismissed  the  idea  that 
Selwyn  was  in  aught  concerned  with  the  trav- 
eler's sudden  and  violent  death  ;  and  she  did  not 
incline  easily  to  the  substituted  suspicion  that 
the  dead  man  was  a  "  revenuer,"  and  that  Sel- 
wyn had  written  to  him  to  recommend  the  in- 
vestigation of  Con  Hite,  whose  implication  in 
moonshining  he  had  some  cause  to  divine. 

Narcissa  had  marked  with  displeasure  Ben's 
surly  manner  to  the  valley  man,  connecting  it 
with  these  considerations,  and  never  dreaming 
that  it  was  her  acquaintance  which  her  brother 
grudged  the  stranger. 

"  I  ought  never  ter  hev  set  Ben  after  him," 
she  thought  ruefully.  "  He  '11  hang  on  ter  him 
like  a  bulldog."  But  aloud  she  only  said,  "  You 
kin  make  the  money  all  the  same." 

"  Oh,  I  '11  try,  like  a  little  man  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
rousing  himself  to  renewed  hope.  "  I  have  writ- 


110    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

ten  to  another  scientific  fellow,  and  he  has 
promised  to  come  and  investigate.  I  hope  to 
Heaven  he  won't  break  his  neck,  too." 

She  also  marked  the  word  "  investigate," 
which  had  so  smitten  Ben's  attention,  and  mar- 
veled what  matter  it  might  be  in  the  mountains 
worth  investigating,  and  promissory  of  gain,  if 
not  the  still-hunt,  as  it  were,  of  the  wily  moon- 
shiners. But  yet  her  faith  in  Selwyn's  motives 
and  good  will,  so  suddenly  adopted,  held  fast. 

"  Con  Hite  mus'  1'arn  ter  look  out  fur  hisse'f," 
she  thought  fretfully,  for  she  could  not  discern 
into  what  disastrous  swirl  she  might  be  guiding 
events  as  she  took  the  helm.  "  He  's  big  enough, 
the  Lord  knows." 

The  little  log  cabin  on  the  slope  of  the  ascent 
had  come  into  sight.  They  had  followed  but 
slowly ;  the  horses  were  already  tethered  to  the 
rails  of  the  fence,  and  the  jury  of  view  and  its 
escort  had  disappeared  within.  A  very  spirited 
fracas  was  in  progress  between  the  visiting  dogs 
and  the  inhospitable  home  canines,  and  once  Ben 
appeared  in  the  passageway  and  hoarsely  called 
his  hounds  off. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  hurry,"  Narcissa  remarked 
cavalierly.  "  Let  Ben  an'  aunt  Minervy  dish  up 
an'  wait  on  'em.  They  won't  miss  me.  Thar  's 
nuthin'  in  this  worl'  a  gormandizin'  man  kin 
miss  at  meal-times,  —  'ceptin'  teeth." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    Ill 

Selwyn  made  no  comment  on  this  touch  of 
reprisal  in  Narcissa's  manner.  If  old  Persim- 
mon Sneed  had  deemed  her  coming  forth  to  meet 
them  superfluous,  she  in  her  own  good  judgment 
could  deem  her  presence  at  table  an  empty  show. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  in,"  she  continued.  "  Ye  kin 
go,"  she  added,  with  a  hasty  afterthought. 
"  Thar  's  a  cheer  sot  ter  the  table  fur  you-uns. 
I  'm  goin'  ter  bide  hyar.  They  '11  git  done  arter 
a  while." 

She  sat  languidly  down  on  a  step  of  a  stile 
that  went  over  the  fence  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  the  house,  and  Selwyn,  protesting 
that  he  wanted  no  dinner,  established  himself  on 
the  protruding  roots  of  a  great  beech-tree  that, 
like  gigantic,  knuckled,  gnarled  fingers,  visibly 
took  a  great  grasp  of  the  earth  before  sinking 
their  tips  far  out  of  sight  beneath.  The  shade 
was  dense  ;  the  sound  of  water  trickling  into  the 
rude  horse-trough  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
path  that  was  to  be  a  road  was  delicious  in  its 
cool  suggestion,  for  the  landscape,  far,  far  to 
see,  blazed  as  with  the  refulgence  of  a  summer 
sun.  The  odor  of  the  apple  orchard,  heavily 
fruited,  was  mellow  on  the  air,  and  the  red- 
freighted  boughs  of  an  old  winesap  bent  above 
the  girl's  head  as  she  sat  with  her  elbow  on  her 
knee  and  her  chin  in  her  hand.  She  gazed 
dreamily  away  at  those  vividly  blue  ranges, 


112    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

whither  one  might  fancy  summer  had  fled,  so 
little  affinity  had  their  aspect  with  the  network 
of  intermediate  brown  valleys,  and  nearer  gar- 
net slopes,  and  the  red  and  yellow  oak  boughs 
close  at  hand,  hanging  above  the  precipice  and 
limiting  the  outlook. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  cogitation, 
while  he  absently  turned  a  cluster  of  beech-nuts 
in  his  hands,  "  I  '11  try  it,  for  keeps,  you  may 
bet,  —  if  you  were  a  betting  character.  There  's 
lots  of  good  things  going  in  these  mountains  ; 
that  is,  if  a  fellow  had  the  money  to  get  'em 
out." 

He  looked  up  a  trifle  drearily  from  under  the 
brim  of  his  straw  hat  at  the  smiling  summertide 
of  those  blue  mountains  yonder.  Oh,  fair  and 
feigning  prospect,  what  wide  and  alluring  per- 
spectives !  He  drew  a  long  sigh.  Is  it  better  to 
know  so  surely  that  winter  is  a-coming? 

"  An'  the  sense,  too,"  remarked  Narcissa,  her 
eyes  still  dreamily  dwelling  on  the  distance. 

He  roused  himself.  The  unconsciously  flatter- 
ing inference  was  too  slight  not  to  be  lawfully 
appropriated. 

"Yes,  the  sense  and  the  enterprise.  Now, 
these  mountaineers,"  —  he  spoke  as  if  she  had 
no  part  among  them,  forgetting  it,  indeed,  for 
the  moment,  —  "  they  let  marble  and  silver  and 
iron,  and  gold  too,  all  sorts  of  natural  wealth, 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.   113 

millions  and  millions  of  the  finest  hard-wood 
timber,  lie  here  undeveloped,  without  making  the 
least  effort  to  realize  on  it,  without  lifting  a  fin- 
ger. They  have  got  no  enterprise  in  the  world, 
and  they  are  the  most  dilatory,  slowest  gang  I 
ever  ran  across  in  my  life." 

A  dimple  deepened  in  the  soft  fairness  of  her 
cheek  under  the  white  sunbonnet. 

"  They  got  enterprise  enough  ter  want  a  road," 
she  drawled,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  him  for  a 
moment,  then  reverting  to  her  former  outlook. 

He  was  a  trifle  embarrassed,  and  lost  his 
balance. 

"  Oh,  /'ll  want  a  road,  too,  after  a  while,"  he 
returned.  "  All  in  good  time."  He  laughed  as 
if  to  himself,  a  touch  of  mystery  in  his  tone,  and 
he  took  off  his  hat  and  jauntily  fanned  himself. 

"  Sorter  dil'tory  yerse'f  now ;  'pears  ter  be  a 
ketchin'  complaint,  like  the  measles." 

Perhaps  she  secretly  resented  the  reflection  on 
the  mountaineers,  for  there  was  a  certain  belli- 
cose intention  in  her  eye,  a  disposition  to  push 
him  to  his  last  defenses. 

"  No ;  but  a  body  would  think  a  fellow  might 
get  enough  intelligent  cooperation  in  any  pro- 
mising matter  from  right  around  here  without 
corresponding  all  over  the  country.  And  the 
mountaineers  don't  know  anything,  and  they 
don't  want  to  learn  anything.  Now,"  convin- 


114    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

cingly,  "  what  would  any  of  those  fellows  in  there 
say  if  I  should  tell  them  that  I  could  take  a 
match  "  —  he  pulled  a  handful  of  lucif ers  from 
his  pocket  —  "  and  set  a  spring  afire  ?  " 

She  gazed  at  him  in  dumb  surprise. 

"They  'd  say  I  was  lying,  I  reckon,"  he  haz- 
arded. With  an  ebullition  of  laughter,  he 
hastily  scrambled  to  his  feet  and  unhitched  his 
horse ;  then,  as  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup,  he 
paused  and  added,  "  Or  else,  '  Better  leave  it 
be,  sonny,' "  with  the  effrontery  of  mimicry. 
" '  Mought  set  the  mounting  afire.'  " 

He  forthwith  swung  himself  into  the  saddle, 
and,  with  a  jaunty  wave  of  the  hand  in  adieu, 
fared  forth  homeward,  leaving  her  staring  after 
him  in  wide-eyed  amazement. 

VII. 

The  love  of  contention  served,  in  the  case  of 
old  Persimmon  Sneed,  in  the  stead  of  industry, 
of  rectitude,  of  perseverance,  of  judgment,  of 
every  quality  that  should  adorn  a  man.  So 
eager  was  he  to  be  off  and  at  the  road  again 
that  he  could  scarcely  wait  to  swallow  his  refec- 
tion. All  the  charms  of  the  profusely  spread 
board  had  not  availed  to  decoy  him  from  the 
subject,  and  the  repast  of  the  devoted  jury  of 
view  was  seasoned  with  his  sage  advice  and 
vehement  argument  against  the  project,  which 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.   115 

its  advocates,  fully  occupied,  failed  for  the  nonce 
to  combat.  Now  and  again  Mrs.  Minerva  Slade 
sought  to  interpose  in  their  behalf,  and  many  a 
tempting  trencher  was  thrust  to  his  elbow  to 
divert  the  tenor  of  his  discourse.  But  despite 
his  youthful  vulnerability  to  the  dainty  which 
had  won  him  his  sobriquet,  Persimmon  Sneed's 
palate  was  not  more  susceptible  to  the  allure- 
ments of  flattery  than  his  hard  head  or  his  obdu- 
rate heart.  There  was,  however,  at  intervals,  a 
lively  clatter  of  his  knife  and  fork,  and  some 
redoubtable  activity  on  the  part  of  his  store 
teeth,  frankly  false,  and  without  doubt  the  only 
false  thing  about  him.  Then  he  hustled  up  the 
jury  of  view  and  their  confreres  to  the  resump- 
tion of  their  duties,  and  was  the  first  man  to  put 
foot  in  stirrup.  Certain  other  mountaineers 
would  fain  have  lingered,  as  was  manifest  by  the 
triangular  slices  of  "  apple  custard  pie  "  in  their 
hands,  as  they  stood,  still  munching,  on  the 
porch,  watching  the  departing  jury  of  view  with 
their  active  and  aged  precursor,  and  by  their 
loitering  farewells  and  thanks  to  Aunt  Minerva 
Slade.  A  beaming  countenance  did  she  wear 
this  day.  She  had  cooked  to  some  cheerful 
purpose.  Not  one  failure  had  marred  the  menu, 
in  testimony  of  which,  as  she  afterward  re- 
marked, "  I  never  seen  scraps  so  skimpy."  Her 
spectacles  reflected  the  bland  light  of  the  day  as 


116    The  Mystery  of  Witch- Face  Mountain. 

smilingly  as  the  eyes  above  which  they  were 
poised,  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  with 
fluttering  graciousness  received  the  homage  of 
her  beneficiaries. 

"That  youngest  one,  Con  Hite,  was  sorter 
mild-mannered  an'  meek,"  she  afterward  said, 
often  recounting  the  culinary  triumphs  of  the 
great  day,  "  an'  I  misdoubts  but  he  hed  the 
deespepsy,  fur  he  war  the  only  one  ez  did  n't 
pitch  in  an'  eat  like  he  war  tryin'  to  per- 
vide  fur  a  week's  fastin'.  I  reckon  they  all 
knowed  what  sort'n  pitiful  table  they  sets  out  at 
Mis'  Cornely  Hood's,  t'other  side  the  mounting, 
whar  they  expected  ter  stop  fur  supper,  an'  war 
a-goin'  ter  lay  up  suthin'  agin  destitution." 

For  an  hour,  perhaps,  before  reaching  Han- 
way's,  Con  Hite  had  ridden  with  the  jury  of 
view.  He  had  not  much  expectation  of  influ- 
encing the  fate  of  the  road  in  any  respect  by 
his  presence,  but  he  felt  it  was  a  matter  of  con- 
sistency to  appear  with  the  others  of  the  opposi- 
tion. He  desired,  too,  to  publicly  urge,  as  his 
reason  for  objecting  to  the  project,  the  insuffi- 
ciency of  hands  in  so  sparsely  populated  a  re- 
gion to  make  a  road  and  keep  it  in  repair ;  lest 
another  reason,  the  wish  to  preserve  the  seclu- 
sion so  dear  to  the  moonshiner,  be  attributed  to 
him.  This  matter  of  policy  had  been  made  very 
palatable  by  the  probability  that  he  would  see 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    117 

Narcissa,  and  it  was  with  a  deep  disappointment 
that  he  beheld  Selwyn  beside  her,  and  received 
only  a  slight  movement  of  her  drooping  eyelids 
as  a  token  of  recognition  and  welcome.  He  had 
been  minded  to  dismount  and  walk  with  her,  but 
his  heart  burned  with  resentment.  Of  what 
worth  now  were  all  his  buoyant  anticipations, 
while  she  was  listening  to  the  sugared  flatteries 
of  the  "  town  cuss  "  ?  He  had  this  subject  for 
cogitation,  while,  in  a  stifling  room,  he  was 
regaled  with  hard  cider  and  apple-jack  by  no 
more  fascinating  Hebe  than  old  Mrs.  Slade, 
with  her  withered  sallow  skin,  her  excited,  anx- 
ious eye,  her  fluttered,  tremulous,  skinny  fingers, 
her  hysteric  cap  with  its  maddeningly  flying 
strings,  and  her  wonderfully  swift  venerable 
scamper  in  and  out  of  the  kitchen. 

Con  Hite  was  the  last  to  go.  He  led  his 
horse  down  to  the  watering-trough,  oblivious  of 
the  stream,  with  its  ample  supply,  a  hundred 
yards  or  so  further  on  and  in  full  view ;  and  as 
he  stood  there,  with  his  hand  on  the  animal's 
shoulder,  he  turned  his  eyes,  somewhat  wistful, 
though  wont  to  be  so  bold  and  bright,  upon 
Narcissa,  still  seated  on  the  stile.  Her  own 
brown  long-lashed  eyes  had  a  far-away  look  in 
them.  They  evidently  passed  him  over  absently, 
and  followed  the  squad  of  men  swiftly  trotting 
adown  the  road,  all  in  good  heart  and  good 


118    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

temper  again,  to  take  up  their  duty  where  they 
had  laid  it  down.  No  faint  vestige  of  a  dimple 
was  now  in  her  daintily  white  cheek. 

"Ye  be  powerful  sparin'  o'  speech  ter-day," 
he  remarked. 

Her  eyes  did  not  move  from  the  distant  land- 
scape. "  Folks  ez  hev  got  nuthin'  ter  say  would 
do  well  ter  say  it." 

He  flushed.  "Ye  hed  mo'  ter  say  ter  the 
stranger-man." 

K  "  Don't  see  him  so  powerful  frequent.  When 
a  thing  is  sca'ce,  it 's  apt  ter  be  ch'ice,"  she 
retorted. 

She  experienced  a  certain  satisfaction  in  her 
acridity.  For  his  sake,  lest  suspicion  befall 
him,  she  had  sought  to  inaugurate  an  investiga- 
tion —  nay,  a  persecution  —  of  this  man,  and  he 
a  stranger ;  and  but  that  circumstance  was  kind 
to  him,  her  effort  might  have  resulted  cruelly. 
And  now  that  she  had  done  so  much  for  Con 
Hite,  it  was  her  pleasure  to  take  it  out  on  him, 
9,5  the  phrase  goes.  All  unaware  of  this  curious 
mental  attitude,  he  winced  under  her  satire. 

"  Waal,  I  kin  make  myself  sca'ce,  too,"  he 
said,  an  impulse  of  pride  surging  in  his  heart. 

"  It  mought  be  better  fur  .ye,"  she  replied 
indifferently. 

His  momentary  independence  left  him  sud- 
denly. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.   119 

"  Narcissa,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "  ye  did  n't 
always  talk  this  way  ter  me." 

"  That  ain't  news  ter  me.  Ben  'lows  ez  I  talk 
six  ways  fur  Sunday." 

"  Ye  dunno  how  I  feel,  not  knowin'  how  ye 
be  set  towards  me,  an'  hevin'  ter  see  ye  so 
seldom,  a-workin'  all  the  time  down  yander, 
a-moonshinin' "  — 

"  I  would  n't  talk  'bout  it  so  turr'ble  loud." 
She  glanced  apprehensively  over  her  shoulder. 
"  An'  ye  'd  better  quit  it,  ennyhows." 

"Ye  'lows  it  be  wrong,"  he  said,  his  bold 
bright  eyes  all  softened  as  he  looked  at  her, 
"  bein'  agin  the  law  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  keerin'  fur  the  law.  Ef  the  truth 
war  knowed,  the  law  is  aimin'  ter  git  all  the 
benefit  o'  whiskey  bein'  drunk  itself.  That's 
whar  the  law  kerns  in.  I  only  keer  fur "  — 
She  stopped  abruptly.  She  had  nearly  revealed 
to  him  that  she  cared  only  lest  some  disaster 
come  to  him  in  his  risky  occupation ;  that  she 
would  like  him  to  be  ploughing  in  a  safe  level 
field  at  the  side  of  a  cabin,  where  she  might  sit 
by  the  window  and  sew,  and  look  out  and  see 
that  no  harm  befell  this  big  bold  man,  six  feet 
two  inches  high.  "  Con  Hite !  "  she  exclaimed, 
her  face  scarlet,  "  I  never  see  a  body  ez  hard- 
hearted an'  onmerciful  ez  ye  air.  Why  n't  ye 
water  that  sufferin'  beast,  ez  air  fairly  honing 


120    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

ter  drink  ?  Waal,"  she  continued,  after  a  pause 
in  which  he  demonstrated  the  axiom  that  one 
may  lead  a  horse  to  water,  but  cannot  make 
him  drink,  "then  why  n't  ye  go?  I  ain't  got 
time  ter  waste,  ef  ye  hev." 

She  rose  as  if  for  departure,  and  he  put  his 
foot  in  the  stirrup.  "  I  wish  ye  would  n't  be  so 
harsh  ter  me,  Narcissa,"  he  said  meekly. 

"  Waal,  thar  be  a  heap  o'  saaft-spoken  gals 
ter  be  hed  fur  the  askin'.  Ye  kin  take  yer 
ch'ice." 

And  with  this  he  was  fain  to  be  content,  as 
he  mounted  and  rode  reluctantly  away. 

She  sat  down  again,  and  was  still  for  a  long 
time  after  the  last  echo  of  his  horse's  hoofs  had 
died  on  the  air.  Her  thoughts  did  not  follow 
him,  however.  They  turned  again  with  re- 
newed interest  to  the  fair-haired  young  stranger. 
Somehow  she  was  ill  at  ease  and  vaguely  disillu- 
sioned. She  watched  mechanically,  and  with 
some  unaccustomed  touch  of  melancholy,  the 
burnished  shimmering  golden  haze  gradually 
invest  far  blue  domes  and  their  purple  slopes, 
and  the  brown  valleys,  and  the  rugged  rocky 
mountains  nearer,  with  a  certain  idealized  slum- 
berous effect  like  the  landscape  of  a  dream.  In 
these  still  spaces  naught  moved  now  save  the 
imperceptible  lengthening  of  the  shadows.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  her  to  deem  the  scene 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    121 

beautiful ;  it  was  the  familiar  furniture  of  her 
home.  Upon  this  her  eyes  had  first  opened. 
She  had  never  thought  to  compare  it  to  aught 
else,  —  to  the  suffocating  experience  of  one  visit 
to  the  metropolitan  glories  of  the  little  town 
in  the  flat  woods  known  as  Colbury.  It  had 
seemed,  indeed,  magnificent  to  her  ignorance, 
and  the  temerity  of  the  architecture  of  a  two- 
story  house  had  struck  her  aghast.  She  had 
done  naught  but  wonder  and  stare.  The  trip 
had  been  a  great  delight,  but  she  had  never  de- 
sired to  linger  or  to  dwell  there.  Certain  sordid 
effects  came  over  her ;  reminiscences  of  the 
muddy  streets,  the  tawdry  shops,  the  jostling, 
busy-eyed  people. 

"  Ain't  this  ez  good  ?  "  she  said  to  herself,  as 
the  vast  scene  suddenly  fluctuated  beneath  a 
flare  of  wind  amidst  the  sunshine,  and  light, 
detached  white  flakes  of  cloud  went  winging 
athwart  the  blue  sky;  their  shadows  followed 
them  fast  across  the  sunlit  valley,  —  only  their 
dark  and  lifeless  semblances,  like  the  verbal 
forms  of  some  white  illumined  thought  that  can 
find  no  fit  expression  in  words.  The  breath  of 
the  pines  came  to  her,  the  sound  of  the  water, 
the  sudden  fanfare  of  the  unseen  wind  in  the 
sky  heralding  the  clouds.  "  Ain't  this  ez 
good?"  she  said  again,  with  that  first  deadly, 
subtle  distrust  of  the  things  of  home,  that  insid- 


122    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

ious  discontent  so  fatal  to  peace.  He  evidently 
did  not  deem  it  as  good,  and  the  obvious  fact 
rankled  in  her.  The  mountain  men,  and  their 
lack  of  enterprise,  and  their  drawling  speech 
which  he  had  mimicked,  —  they  too  shared  his 
disparagement ;  and  she  was  conscious  that  she 
herself  did  not  now  think  so  well  of  them,  —  so 
conscious  that  she  made  a  loyal  struggle  against 
this  sentiment. 

"So  shif'less,  so  thrif'less,"  she  echoed  his 
words.  "  An'  I  dunno  ez  /  ever  viewed  a  waste- 
fuller  critter  'n  this  hyar  very  Mister  Man." 
She  stooped  down,  gathering  together  the  hand- 
ful of  matches  that  Selwyn  had  inadvertently 
pulled  from  his  pocket  with  the  one  which  he 
had  used  in  illustrating  his  suggestion  of  set- 
ting the  waters  of  a  spring  afire.  "  Ef  he 
keeps  on  ez  wasteful  ez  this,  he  '11  get  out  o' 
matches  whar  he  lives  over  yander ;  an'  I  mis- 
doubts ef,  smart  ez  he  'lows  he  be,  he  could 
kindle  the  wood  ter  cook  his  breakfus'  by  a  flint 
rock,  —  ef  he  air  so  boastful  ez  ter  'low  ez  he 
kin  set  spring  water  afire." 

She  made  the  matches  into  a  compact  little 
budget  and  slipped  them  into  her  pocket,  and 
as  she  rose  and  looked  about  uncertainly,  she 
heard  her  aunt  Minerva  calling  to  her  from  the 
house  that  it  was  high  time  to  go  and  drive  up 
the  cows. 


The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    123 

Aunt  Minerva  had  not  bethought  herself  to 
summon  the  girl  to  dinner.  The  whole  world 
seemed  surfeited  to  her,  so  had  dinner  occupied 
her  day.  Narcissa  herself,  under  the  stress  of 
the  abnormal  excitements,  felt  no  lack  as  she 
slowly  trod  the  familiar  paths  in  search  of  the 
bovine  vagrants. 

Her  thoughts  bore  her  company,  and  she  was 
far  from  home  when  the  aspect  of  the  reddening 
sun  smote  her  senses.  She  stood  and  watched 
the  last  segment  of  the  vermilion  sphere  sink 
down  out  of  sight,  and,  as  she  turned,  the 
October  dusk  greeted  her  on  every  side.  The 
shadows,  how  dense  in  the  woods ;  the  valleys, 
darkling  already  !  Only  on  the  higher  eastern 
slopes  a  certain  red  reflection  spoke  of  the  van- 
ishing day.  She  looked  vainly  as  yet  for  some 
faint  silvery  suffusion  which  might  herald  the 
rising  of  the  moon ;  for  it  was  to  be  a  bright 
night.  She  was  glad  of  the  recollection.  She 
had  not  hitherto  realized  it,  but  she  was  tired. 
She  would  rest  for  a  little  while,  and  thus  re- 
freshed she  would  be  the  sooner  home.  She  sat 
down  on  a  ledge  of  the  outcropping  rock  and 
looked  about  her.  The  spot  was  unfamiliar, 
but  in  the  far  stretch  of  the  darkening  scene 
she  identified  many  a  well-known  landmark. 
There  was  the  gleaming  bend  of  the  river  in  the 
valley,  lost  presently  amidst  the  foliage  of  its 


124    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

banks ;  and  here  was  an  isolated  conical  peak 
on  a  far  lower  level  than  the  summit  of  the 
range,  and  known  as  Thimble  Mountain ;  and 
nearer  still,  across  a  narrow  bight  of  the  Cove, 
was  a  bare  slope.  As  she  glanced  at  it  she  half 
rose  from  her  place,  for  there  was  the  witch- 
face,  twilight  on  the  grim  features,  yet  with 
the  aid  of  memory  so  definitely  discerned  that 
they  could  hardly  have  been  more  distinct  by 
noonday,  —  a  face  of  inexplicably  sinister  omen. 
"  Oh,  why  did  I  see  it  to-day !  "  she  exclaimed, 
the  presage  of  ill  fortune  strong  upon  her,  with 
that  grisly  mask  leering  at  her  from  across  the 
valley.  But  the  day  was  well-nigh  gone ;  only 
a  scant  space  remained  in  which  to  work  the 
evil  intent  of  fate.  She  seated  herself  anew, 
for  in  the  shadowy  labyrinth  of  the  woods  her 
path  could  scarcely  be  found.  She  must  needs 
wait  for  the  moon. 

She  wondered,  as  she  sat  and  gazed  about, 
how  far  she  might  be  from  that  new  dwelling 
where  he  lived  who  so  scorned  the  mountain, 
and  who  owed  to  it  his  every  breath.  There 
was  no  sound,  no  suggestion  of  human  habita- 
tion. The  shadowy  woods  stood  dense  about 
the  little  open  ledgy  space  on  three  sides ;  to- 
ward the  very  verge  of  the  mountain  the  rocks 
grew  shelving  and  precipitous,  and  beyond  the 
furthest  which  she  could  see,  the  gray  edge  of 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    125 

which  cut  sharply  against  the  base  of  a  distant 
dun-tinted  range,  she  knew  the  descent  was 
abrupt  to  the  depths  of  the  valley.  Looking 
up,  she  beheld  the  trembling  lucid  whiteness  of 
a  star ;  now  and  again  the  great  rustling  boughs 
of  an  oak-tree  swayed  beneath  it,  and  then  its 
glister  was  broken  and  deflected  amidst  the 
crisp  autumnal  leaves,  but  still  she  saw  it  shine. 
It  told,  too,  that  there  was  water  near ;  she 
caught  its  radiant  multiplied  reflection,  like  a 
cluster  of  scintillating  white  gems,  on  the  lus- 
trous dark  surface  of  a  tiny  pool,  circular  and 
rock-bound,  close  -beneath  the  ledge  on  which 
she  sat.  She  leaned  over,  and  saw  in  its  depths 
the  limpid  fading  red  sky,  and  the  jagged 
brown  border  of  the  rocks,  and  a  grotesque 
moving  head,  which  she  recognized,  after  a 
plunge  of  the  heart,  as  her  own  sunbonnet. 
She  drew  back  in  dismay ;  she  would  have  no 
more  of  this  weird  mirror  of  the  rocks  and 
woods,  and  looked  "up  again  at  the  shining  of 
the  star  amidst  the  darkening  shadows  of  the 
scarlet  oak.  How  tall  that  tree  was,  how  broad 
of  girth !  And  how  curiously  this  stranger 
talked !  What  was  there  to  do  with  all  these 
trees !  Would  he  cut  down  all  the  trees  on 
the  mountain?  A  sudden  doubt  of  his  sanity 
crossed  her  mind.  It  was  the  first,  and  her 
heart  stood  still  for  a  moment.  But  as  she 


126   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

slowly  canvassed  the  idea,  it  accounted  for 
much  otherwise  impossible  to  comprehend :  his 
evident  poverty  and  his  efforts  toward  the  pur- 
chase of  lands ;  his  illness  and  his  bluff  insist- 
ence on  his  strength  ;  his  wild  talk  of  enterprise 
and  his  mysterious  intimations  of  phenomenal 
opportunities.  Confirmations  of  the  suspicion 
crowded  upon  her;  above  all,  the  mad  boast 
that  with  a  match  he  could  set  the  waters  of  a 
spring  afire. 

With  a  sad  smile  at  the  fatuity  of  the  thing, 
in  her  idle  waiting  she  drew  one  of  his  matches 
from  her  pocket ;  then  she  struck  it  briskly  on 
the  rugged  rock,  and  cast  it,  blazing  lightly, 
into  the  bubbling  waters  of  the  spring. 

The  woods,  the  rocks,  the  black  night,  the 
fleering,  flouting  witch-face,  all  with  an  abrupt 
bound  sprang  into  sudden  visibility.  A  pyra- 
mid of  yellow  flame  was  surging  up  from  the 
bubbling  surface  of  the  water.  Long,  dark, 
slim  shadows  were  speeding  through  the  woods, 
with  strange  slants  of  yellow  light;  the  very 
skies  were  a-flicker.  She  cowered  back  for  a 
moment,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Then,  affrighted  at  her  own  sorceries,  she  fled 
like  a  deer  through  the  wilderness. 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.    127 

VIII. 

One  by  one,  as  the  afternoon  wore  on,  the 
spectators  began  to  desert  the  jury  of  view, 
their  progress  over  the  mountain  being  slower 
than  had  been  anticipated.  So  often,  indeed, 
did  insoluble  difficulties  arise  touching  the  loca- 
tion of  the  road  and  questions  of  dispute  that 
it  might  be  wondered  that  the  whole  body  did 
not  perish  by  faction.  After  the  party  had 
passed  the  boundary  line  of  Persimmon  Sneed's 
tract,  where  he  seemed  to  consider  the  right  of 
eminent  domain  merged  in  nothingness  in  com- 
parison to  his  lordly  prerogatives  as  owner  in 
fee  simple,  he  ceased  to  urge  as  heretofore.  He 
dictated  boldly  to  the  jury.  He  rode  briskly  on 
in  advance,  as  if  doing  the  honors  of  his  estate 
to  flattered  guests,  now  and  again  waving  his 
hand  to  illustrate  his  proposition,  his  keen, 
high-pitched  voice  overcoming  in  its  distinct 
utterance  the  sound  of  hoofs  and  spurs,  and  the 
monotonous  bass  contradictions  proffered  by 
Silas  Boyd. 

And  the  jury  of  view,  silent  and  circumspect, 
rode  discreetly  on. 

Persimmon  Sneed's  mare  seemed  as  fresh  as 
himself,  and  when  he  would  turn,  as  he  often 
did,  to  face  the  fatigued,  wilted,  overwhelmed 
jury  jogging  along  on  their  jaded  steeds,  tired 


128  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

out  with  the  long  day's  jaunt  and  the  rough 
footing,  the  mare  would  move  swiftly  backward 
in,  a  manner  that  would  have  done  credit  to  the 
manege  of  a  circus.  And  at  this  extreme 
advantage  Persimmon  Sneed  and  his  raised 
adjuring  forefinger  seemed  impossible  to  be 
gainsaid.  His  arguments  partook  of  the  same 
unanswerable  character. 

"  Ye  don't  see  none  o'  my  cattle,  do  ye  ? " 
He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  woods  flecked 
with  the  long  slantings  of  the  sun.  "  I  hev  got 
more  'n  a  hunderd  head  grazin'  right  hyar  in 
the  bresh.  Cattle-thieves  could  call  an'  salt  'em 
easy  enough,  but  they  could  n't  drive  'em  off 
through  the  laur'l  thar ;  it 's  thick  ez  hell ! " 
pointing  to  the  dense  jungle.  "  But  ef  we-uns 
hed  this  hyar  road  what  ye  air  aimin'  ter  lay 
off,  why,  a  leetle  salt  an'  a  leetle  drivin'  an'  a 
moonlight  night  would  gather  'em,  an'  the  whole 
herd  would  be  in  Georgy  by  daybreak.  I 
would  n't  hev  the  hawn  of  a  muley  cow  lef '. 
Now,  ez  it  be,  them  cattle  air  ez  safe  from 
sight  ez  ef  I  hed  swallowed  'em ! "  And  he 
whirled  again,  and  led  the  column. 

The  jury  of  view  rode  disconsolately  on. 

They  experienced  a  temporary  relief  when 
they  had  passed  the  confines  of  his  tract,  —  for 
it  was  across  but  a  protruding  tongue  of  the 
main  body  of  his  land  that  the  road  was  ex- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  129 

pected  to  run,  —  and  entered  upon  the  domain 
of  the  "  valley  man  with  the  lung  complaint ;  " 
for  this  diverted  Persimmon  Sneed  to  the  more 
amiable  task  of  narrating  how  the  stranger  had 
sought  to  buy  land  of  him,  and  the  high  prices 
he  had  scornfully  refused,  the  adaptability  of 
his  land  to  his  own  especial  needs  being  so  phe- 
nomenally apt. 

A  sudden  query  from  Silas  Boyd  rendered 
their  respite  short :  "  What 's  that  man  Selwyn 
want  so  much  land  fur,  ennyhows?  He  hev 
been  try  in'  ter  buy  all  that  'crost  the  gorge, 
too."  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the  gloomy 
woods  darkening  on  the  opposite  slope. 

"  Ter  graze  cattle,  o'  course,"  promptly  sur- 
mised Persimmon  Sneed.  "Jes'  look  at  my 
fine  chance  o'  yearlin's,  a-layin'  on  fat  an'  bone 
an'  muscle  every  day,  with  no  expense  nor 
attendance,  an'  safe  an'  sound  an'  sure.  An' 
now,"  he  cried  suddenly,  and  the  shuddering 
jury  saw  the  collocation  of  ideas  as  it  bore  down 
upon  them,  and  Persimmon  Sneed  swiftly 
turned,  facing  them,  while  the  mare  nimbly 
essayed  a  passado  backward,  "  ye  air  talkin' 
'bout  changin'  all  this,  ruinationin'  the  vally  o' 
my  land  ter  me.  Ye  'low  ye  want  ter  permote 
the  interus'  o'  the  public !  Waal,"  raising  an 
impressive  forefinger,  "ain't  /the  public?" 

No  one  ventured  a  reply. 


130   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

The  jury  of  view  rode  desperately  on. 

They  had  presently  more  cause  for  depression 
of  spirit.  It  began  to  be  evident  that  with  the 
dusk  some  doubt  had  arisen  in  the  minds  of  the 
mountaineers  of  the  party  as  to  the  exact  trend 
of  the  herder's  trail.  The  doubt  intensified, 
until  further  progress  proved  definitively  that  the 
indistinct  trail  was  completely  lost.  Darkness 
came  on  apace ;  the  tangled  ways  of  the  forest 
seemed  momently  more  tortuous  ;  wolves  were 
not  rare  in  the  vicinity ;  rumors  of  a  gang  of 
horse-thieves  were  rife. 

After  much  discussion,  the  jury  of  view 
agreed  that  they  would  go  no  further  at  present, 
but  wait  for  the  rising  of  the  moon,  on  the 
theory  that  it  would  then  be  practicable  to  make 
their  way  to  the  Hood  cabin,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain,  which  was  their  immediate 
goal,  and  which  they  had  expected  to  reach  by 
sunset ;  unaware  that  in  their  devious  turnings 
they  had  retraced  several  miles  of  their  course, 
and  were  now  much  nearer  Selwyn's  dwelling  in 
the  woods  than  the  terminus  of  their  route. 

Despite  their  uncertainty  and  anxiety,  the  rest 
was  grateful.  The  shades  of  night  were  cool 
and  refreshing  after  the  glare  of  the  day,  as 
they  sat  smoking  on  the  rocks  about  the  verge 
of  the  mountain.  The  horses  had  been  unsad- 
dled, and  were  picketed  in  an  open  glade  at 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  131 

a  little  distance :  in  recurrent  pauses  in  the 
talk,  the  sound  of  their  grazing  on  the  scanty 
grass  came  to  the  ear ;  all  else  was  silence  save 
the  tinkling  of  a  mountain  rill,  —  a  keen  de- 
tached appoggiatura  rising  occasionally  above 
the  monody  of  its  murmurous  flow,  —  and  the 
melancholy  chiming  of  some  lingering  cicada, 
the  latest  spared  of  the  frost. 

The  night  was  as  yet  very  dark ;  the  stars 
were  dull  in  a  haze,  the  valley  was  a  vague  blur ; 
even  the  faces  of  the  men  could  not  be  dimly 
distinguished.  Strange,  then,  that  an  added 
visibility  suddenly  invested  the  woods  and  the 
sky-line  beyond  a  dense  belt  of  timber. 

"  'Pears  ter  me  toler'ble  early  fur  the  moon," 
observed  one  of  the  men.  "  She  's  on  the  wane 
now,  too." 

"  'T  ain't  early,  though,"  replied  the  sullen, 
bass  voice  of  Silas  Boyd  from  the  darkness ;  it 
was  lowered,  that  the  others  might  not  hear. 
"  That  thar  old  perverted  Philistine  of  a  Per- 
simmon Sneed  kep'  us  danderin'  roun'  hyar  till 
mighty  nigh  eight  o'clock,  I  '11  bet,  a-persistin' 
an'  a-persistin'  he  knowed  the  road,  when  he 
war  plumb  lost  time  we  got  on  that  cowpath. 
An'  the  jury  o'  view,  they  hed  ter  take  Per- 
simmon Sneed's  advice,  he  bein'  the  oldest,  an' 
wait  hyar  fur  the  risin'  moon.  Persimmon 
Sneed  will  repent  he  picked  out  this  spot,  — 
he  '11  repent  it  sure  !  " 


132    The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

This  dictum  was  only  the  redundancy  of  dis- 
content; but  when,  in  the  light  of  subsequent 
events,  it  was  remembered,  and  special  gifts  of 
discernment  were  attributed  to  Silas  Boyd,  he 
did  not  disclaim  them,  for  he  felt  that  his  words 
were  surely  inspired  by  some  presentiment,  so 
apt  were  they,  and  so  swiftly  did  the  fulfillment 
follow  the  prophecy. 

There  was  a  sudden  stir  among  the  group. 
The  men  were  getting  quickly  to  their  feet, 
alert,  tense,  with  broken  whispers  and  bated 
breath.  For  there,  on  a  bare  slope,  viewed 
diagonally  across  the  gorge  and  illumined  with 
a  wavering  pallor,  the  witch-face  glared  down 
at  them  from  the  dense  darkness  of  the  woods. 
The  quick  chilly  repulsion  of  the  strangers  as 
they  gazed  spellbound  at  the  apparition  was 
outmatched  by  the  horror  of  those  who  had 
known  the  fantasy  from  childhood  ;  —  never 
thus  had  they  beheld  the  gaunt  old  face ! 
What  strange  unhallowed  mystery  was  this, 
that  it  should  smile  and  grimace  and  mock  at 
them  from  out  the  shadowy  night,  with  flickers 
of  light  as  of  laughter  running  athwart  its 
grisly  lineaments?  What  evil  might  it  por- 
tend ?  They  all  stood  aghast,  watching  this 
pallid  emblazonment  of  the  deep  night. 

"Boys,"  said  old  Dent  Kirby  tremulously, 
"  thar  's  suthin'  powerful  cur'ous  'bout  this  'spe- 


The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  133 

riunce.  That  thar  light  war  never  kindled  in 
heaven  or  y earth." 

"  Let 's  go  !  "  cried  Jeremiah  Sayres.  "  We 
hev  got  ter  git  out'n  this  somehows." 

"Go  whar?"  croaked  Silas  Boyd,  his  deep 
bass  voice  lowered  to  a  whisper.  "  I  be  'feard 
ter  quit  the  trail  furder.  *  Pinnock's  Mis'ry '  be 
hyar-abouts  somewhar,  a  plumb  quicksand,  what 
a  man  got  into  an'  floundered  an'  sank,  an' 
floundered  agin,  an'  whenst  they  fund  him  his 
hair  war  white  an'  his  mind  deranged.  Or  else 
we-uns  mought  run  off'n  a  bluff  somewhar,  an' 
git  our  necks  bruk." 

Now  Persimmon  Sneed  was  possessed  of  a 
most  intrusive  curiosity,  and  he  was  further 
endowed  with  a  sturdy  courage. 

"  I  '11  jes'  step  off  a  leetle  way  to'des  that 
light,  an'  view  whar  it  kerns  from,"  he  observed 
coolly.  "  The  woods  air  too  wet  to  burn." 

He  would  not  listen  to  protest. 

"  The  witch-face  ain't  never  blighted  me 
none,"  he  rejoined  stoutly  as  he  set  forth. 

IX. 

The  thick  tangled  mass  of  the  undergrowth 
presently  intervened,  so  that,  as  he  broke  his 
way  through  it,  he  wondered  that  its  bosky 
dimness  should  be  so  visible  beneath  the  heavy 
shadows  of  the  great  trees  looming  high  over- 


134  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

head.  Once  he  stopped  dubiously  ;  the  glow 
evidently  came  rather  from  below  than  above. 
It  is  too  much  to  say  that  a  thrill  of  fear  tried 
the  fibres  of  Persimmon  Sneed's  obdurate  old 
heart.  But  he  listened  for  a  moment  to  hear, 
perchance,  the  sound  of  voices  from  the  group 
he  had  left,  or  the  champing  of  the  picketed 
steeds.  He  was  an  active  man,  and  had  come 
fast  and  far  since  quitting  his  companions. 
Not  even  a  vague  murmur  rose  from  the  silent 
autumnal  woods.  The  stillness  was  absolute. 
As  he  moved  forward  once  more,  the  impact  of 
his  foot  upon  the  rain-soaked  leaves,  the  rustle 
of  the  boughs  as  he  pressed  among  them,  the  rise 
and  fall  of  his  own  breathing,  somewhat  quicker 
than  its  wont,  served  to  render  appreciable  to 
Persimmon  Sneed  the  fact  that  he  possessed 
nerves  which  were  more  susceptible  to  a  quaver 
of  doubt  than  that  redoubtable  endowment 
called  his  hard  head. 

"  Somebody  hev  jes'  sot  out  fire  in  the  woods, 
—  though  powerful  wet,"  he  muttered,  his  intel- 
lectual entity  seeking  to  quiet  that  inward 
flutter  of  his  mere  bodily  being.  "  But  I  'm 
a-goin'  on,"  he  protested  obstinately,  "  ef  it  be 
bodaciously  kindled  by  the  devil !  " 

And  as  he  spoke,  his  heart  failed,  his  limbs 
seemed  sinking  beneath  him,  his  pulses  beat 
tumultuously  for  a  moment,  and  then  were 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  135 

abruptly  still ;  he  had  emerged  from  the  woods 
in  a  great  flickering  glare  which  pervaded  an 
open,  rocky  space  shelving  to  a  precipice,  and 
beheld  a  tall,  glowing  yellow  flame  rising  un- 
quenched  from  the  illuminated  surface  of  a 
bubbling  mountain  spring.  His  senses  reeled  ; 
a  myriad  of  tawny  red  and  yellow  flashes  swayed 
before  his  dazzled  eyes.  He  had  heard  all  his 
life  of  the  wild  freaks  of  the  witches  in  the 
woods.  Had  he  chanced  on  their  unhallowed 
pastimes  in  the  solitudes  of  these  untrodden 
mountain  wildernesses?  Was  this  miraculous 
fire,  blazing  from  the  depths  of  the  clear  water, 
necromancy,  the  work  of  the  devil  ? 

The  next  moment  his  heart  gave  a  great 
throb.  He  found  his  voice  in  a  wild  halloo. 
Among  the  fluttering  shadows  of  the  trees  he 
had  caught  sight  of  the  figure  of  a  man,  and, 
a  thousand  times  better,  of  a  face  that  he  knew. 
The  man  was  approaching  the  fire,  with  a  stare 
of  blank  amazement  and  fear  as  his  distended 
eyes  beheld  the  phenomenon  of  the  blazing 
spring.  Their  expression  changed  instantly 
upon  the  sound.  His  face  was  all  at  once  alert, 
grave,  suspicious,  a  prosaic  anxiety  obliterating 
every  trace  of  superstitious  terror.  His  right 
hand  was  laid  upon  his  hip  in  close  proximity 
to  a  pistol-pocket,  and  Persimmon  Sneed  re- 
membered suddenly  that  his  own  pistol  was  in 


136  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

its  holster  on  his  saddle,  he  could  not  say  how 
far  distant  in  these  wild,  trackless  woods,  and 
that  this  man  was  a  notorious  offender  against 
the  law,  sundry  warrants  for  his  arrest  for 
horse-stealing  having  been  issued  at  divers  times 
and  places.  There  had  been  much  talk  of  an 
organized  band  who  had  assisted  in  these  and 
similar  exploits  in  secluded  districts  of  the 
county,  but  Persimmon  Sneed  had  given  it 
scant  credence  until  he  beheld  several  armed 
men  lagging  in  the  rear,  their  amazed,  uncouth 
faces,  under  their  broad-brimmed  hats,  all  weird 
and  unnatural  in  the  pervasive  yellow  glow. 
They  had,  evidently,  been  led  to  the  spot  by 
the  strange  flare  in  the  heart  of  the  woods ; 
but  Nick  Peters  could  well  enough  pretermit 
his  surprise  and  whatever  spiritual  terrors 
might  assail  him  till  a  more  convenient  season 
for  their  indulgence.  A  more  immediate  dan- 
ger menaced  him  than  the  bodily  appearance  of 
the  devil,  which  he  had  momently  expected  as 
he  gazed  at  the  flaming  water.  He  had  seen 
the  others  of  his  own  party  approaching,  and  he 
walked  quickly  across  the  clear  space  to  Per- 
simmon Sneed.  He  was  a  little,  slim,  wiry 
man,  with  light,  sleek  hair,  pink  cheeks,  high 
cheek-bones,  and  a  bony  but  blunt  nose.  He 
had  a  light  eye,  gray,  shallow,  but  inscrutable, 
and  there  was  something  feline  in  his  aspect 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  137 

and  glance,  at  once  smooth  and  caressing  and 
of  latent  fierceness. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Persimmon  Sneed,"  he  exclaimed 
in  a  voice  as  bland  as  a  summer's  day,  "  how 
did  you-uns  an'  yer  f rien's  do  sech  ez  that  ?  " 
and  he  pointed  at  the  flaring  pyramid  on  the 
surface  of  the  water. 

Persimmon  Sneed,  in  his  proclivity  to  argu- 
ment, forgot  his  lack  of  a  pistol  and  his  difficult 
position,  unarmed  and  alone. 

"  I  '11  hev  ye  ter  remember  I  hev  no  dealin's 
with  the  devil.  I  dunno  how  that  water  war 
set  afire,  nor  my  friends  nuther,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  Whar  air  they  ?  " 

Nick  Peters's  keen,  discerning  eye  had  been 
covertly  scanning  the  flickering  shadows  and  the 
fluctuating  slants  of  yellow  light  about  them. 
Now  he  boldly  threw  his  glance  over  his 
shoulder. 

Persimmon  Sneed  caught  himself  sharply. 

"  They  ain't  hyar-abouts,"  he  said  gruffly,  on 
his  guard  once  more. 

A  look  of  apprehension  crossed  the  horse-thief's 
face.  The  denial  was  in  the  nature  of  an  affir- 
mation to  his  alert  suspicion ;  for  it  is  one  of  the 
woes  of  the  wicked  that,  knowing  no  truth  them- 
selves, they  cannot  recognize  it  in  others,  even 
in  a  transient  way,  as  a  chance  acquaintance. 
He  must  needs  have  heed.  A  number  of  men, 


138  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

doubtless,  well  armed,  were  in  the  immediate 
vicinity.  As  he  whirled  himself  lightly  half 
around  on  his  spurred  heel,  his  manner  did  not 
conform  to  his  look. 

"  Did  you-uns  an'  them  kem  all  the  way  from 
the  valley  ter  view  the  blazin'  spring?"  he 
asked.  "  Looks  some  like  hell-fire,"  he  added 
incidentally,  and  with  the  tone  of  one  familiar 
with  the  resemblance  he  descried. 

"  Naw ;  we-uns  never  hearn  on  it  afore ;  I 
jes'  run  on  it  accidental,"  Sneed  replied  suc- 
cinctly, hardly  daring  to  trust  himself  to  an  un- 
necessary word ;  for  the  staring  men  that  had 
gathered  at  a  respectful  distance  about  the  blaz- 
ing spring  numbered  nine  or  ten,  and  an  ill- 
advised  tongue  might  precipitate  an  immediate 
attack  on  the  dismounted,  unarmed  group  await- 
ing his  return  at  the  verge  of  the  bluff.  A 
genuine  thrill  of  terror  shook  him  as  he  realized 
that  at  any  moment  he  might  be  followed  by 
men  as  ill  prepared  as  he  to  cope  with  the  horse- 
thief's  gang. 

"  I  see  ye  rid,"  said  Nick  Peters,  observing 
his  acquaintance's  spurs.  "  Yer  frien's  rid,  too, 
Is'pose?" 

Persimmon  Sneed,  desirous  of  seeming  unsus- 
picious, merely  nodded.  He  seemed  as  sus- 
picious, in  fact,  as  watchful,  as  stanch,  as  ready 
to  spring,  as  a  leopard  in  a  cage.  His  thin  lips 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  139 

were  set,  his  alert  eyes  keen,  his  unshaven, 
stubbly  jaws  rigid,  his  whole  body  at  a  high 
tension.  The  man  of  quicker  perceptions  was 
first  to  drop  the  transparent  feint,  but  only  to 
assume  another. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Sneed,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of 
reproach  and  upbraiding,  "  do  ye  mean  ter  tell 
me  ez  ye  hev  kem  up  hyar  with  the  sheriff  or 
dep'ty  ter  nose  me  out ;  me,  who  hev  got  no 
home,  —  folks  burned  my  house  ter  the  yearth, 
namin'  me  *  horse-thief '  an'  sech,  —  nor  frien's, 
nor  means,  nor  havin's,  plumb  run  ter  groun' 
like  a  fox  or  sech?" 

"  Ef  ye  did "  —  said  a  gigantic  ruffian  who 
had  come  up,  backed  by  a  shadow  twice  his  size, 
and  stood  assisting  at  the  colloquy,  looking  over 
the  shoulder  of  his  wiry  little  chief.  He  left 
the  sentence  unfinished,  a  significant  gesture  to- 
ward the  handle  of  the  pistol  in  his  belt  render- 
ing the  omission  of  slight  moment. 

"  Some  o'  them  boys  war  wondering  ef  that 
fire  out'n  the  water  would  burn,"  observed  a  fat, 
greasy,  broad-faced  lout,  with  a  foolish,  brutal 
grin.  "  It  mought  make  out  ter  singe  this 
stranger's  hair  an'  hide,  ef  we  war  ter  gin  him  a 
duckin'  thar." 

"  Air  ye  a-huntin'  of  me,  too,  Mr.  Sneed,  — 
ye  that  war  'quainted  with  me  in  the  old  times 
on  Tomahawk  Creek?"  Peters  reiterated  his 


140  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

demand  in  a  plaintive,  melodramatic  tone,  which 
titillated  his  fancy,  somehow,  and,  like  virtue, 
was  its  own  exceeding  great  reward ;  for  both  he 
and  Persimmon  Sneed  knew  right  well  that  their 
acquaintance  amounted  only  to  a  mere  facial  re- 
cognition when  they  had  chanced  to  pass  on  the 
country  road  or  the  village  street,  years  before. 
Nevertheless,  under  the  pressure  of  the  inherent 
persuasiveness  of  the  suggested  retribution, 
Persimmon  Sneed  made  haste  to  aver  that  his 
errand  in  the  mountains  was  in  no  sense  at  the 
sheriff's  instance.  And  so  radical  and  indubi- 
table were  his  protestations  that  Nick  Peters  was 
constrained  to  discard  this  fear,  and  demand, 
"  What  brung  ye  ter  Witch-Face  Mounting 
then,  Mr.  Sneed  ?  " 

"  Waal,  some  fellows  war  app'inted  by  the 
county  court  ter  view  the  road  an'  report  on  it," 
said  Persimmon,  "  an'  I  kem  along  ter  see  how 
it  mought  affect  my  interust." 

How  far  away,  how  long  ago,  how  infinitely 
unimportant,  seemed  all  those  convolutions  of 
trail  and  argument  in  which  he  had  expended 
the  finest  flowers  of  his  contradictory  faculties, 
the  stanch  immobility  of  his  obstinacy,  his  un- 
swerving singleness  of  purpose  in  seeing  only 
one  side  of  a  question,  this  afternoon,  a  few 
short  hours  since !  The  mutability  of  the  affairs 
of  the  most  immutable  of  human  beings  ! 


The  Mystery  of  Witch- Face  Mountain.  141 

This  reflection  was  cut  short  by  observing  the 
stare  of  blank  amazement  on  Nick  Peters's  face. 
"  Road  !  "  he  said.  "  Thar  ain't  no  road." 

"  They  air  app'inted  ter  lay  out  an'  report  on 
opeuin'  one,"  explained  Persimmon  Sneed. 

Evidently  Nick  Peters's  experience  of  the 
law  was  in  its  criminal  rather  than  in  its  civil 
phases,  but  the  surpi'ise  died  out  of  his  face,  and 
he  presently  said,  with  a  beguiling  air  of  frank- 
ness, "  Now,  Mr.  Sneed,  ye  see  this  happens 
right  in  my  way  of  trade.  Jes'  tell  me  whar 
them  loafers  air,  an'  how  many  horses  they  hev 
got  along,  an'  I  '11  gin  ye  the  bes'  beastis  I  hev 
got  ter  ride,  an'  a  pair  o'  shootin'-irons  and  set 
ye  in  the  valley  road  on  the  way  home.  Ye  kin 
say  ye  war  lost  from  them." 

It  is  true  that  in  this  moment  Persimmon 
Sneed  remembered  each  of  his  contumacious 
comrades,  and  saw  that  they  outnumbered  by 
one  the  horse-thief's  gang ;  he  realized  that  they 
were  out  of  leading-strings,  and  amply  capable 
of  taking  care  of  themselves.  He  had  that 
wincing  terror  which  an  unarmed  man  expe- 
riences at  the  sight  of  "  shootin'-irons  "  in  the 
grasp  of  other  and  antagonistic  men.  More 
than  all,  he  looked  at  those  hell-lighted  flames, 
as  he  esteemed  them,  rising  out  of  the  lustrous 
water,  and  believed  the  jocose  barbarity  of  the 
threat  of  the  brutal  henchman  might  be  serious 
earnest  in  its  execution. 


142  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

But  the  jury  of  view  and  their  companions 
were  all  unprepared  for  molestation  in  such 
wise  as  menaced  them.  He  reflected  anew 
upon  their  dismounted  condition,  the  horses 
hitched  at  a  distance,  the  saddles  scattered  on 
the  ground  in  the  darkness,  with  the  holsters 
buckled  to  them  and  the  pistols  within.  A  sud- 
den attack  meant  a  successful  robbery  and  per- 
chance bloodshed. 

"  I  '11  die  fust !  "  he  said  loudly,  and  he  had 
never  looked  more  painfully  obstinate.  "  I  '11 
die  fust !  "  He  lifted  his  quivering  hand  and 
shook  it  passionately  in  the  air.  "  I  ain't  no 
ransomed  saint,  an'  I  know  it,  but  afore  I  '11 
betray  that  thar  jury  o'  view  what's  been 
app'inted  by  the  county  court  ter  lay  off  the 
damned  road,  I  '11  die  fust !  I  ain't  no  ransomed 
saint,  I  ain't,  but  I  '11  die  fust !  I  ain't  no 
ransomed "  » 

"  Stop,  boys,  stop! "  cried  the  wiry  little  horse- 
thief,  as  the  others  gathered  about  Sneed  with 
threatening  eyes  and  gestures,  while  he  vocifer- 
ated amongst  them,  as  lordly  as  if  he  were  in 
his  oft-time  preeminence  as  the  foreman  of  a 
jury.  Nick  Peters's  face  had  changed.  There 
was  a  sudden  fear  upon  it,  uncomprehended  by 
Persimmon  Sneed.  It  did  not  occur  to  him 
until  long  afterward  that  he  had  for  the  first 
time  used  the  expression  "  a  jury  of  view,"  and 


The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  143 

that  the  horse-thief's  familiarity  with  the  idea  of 
a  jury  was  only  in  the  sense  of  twelve  men. 

Peters  spoke  aside  to  the  others,  only  a  word 
or  so,  but  there  was  amongst  them  an  obvious 
haste  to  get  away,  of  which  Persimmon  Sneed 
was  cognizant,  albeit  his  head  was  swimming, 
his  breath  short,  his  eyes  dazzled  by  the  fire 
which  he  feared.  His  understanding,  however, 
was  blunted  in  some  sort,  it  seemed  to  him,  for 
he  could  make  no  sense  of  Nick  Peters's  ob- 
servation as  he  took  him  by  the  arm,  although 
afterward  it  became  plain  enough. 

"  Ye  '11  hev  ter  go  an'  'bide  along  o'  we-uns 
fur  awhile,  Mr.  Sneed,"  he  said,  choking  with 
the  laughter  of  some  occult  happy  thought. 
"  Ye  ain't  a  ransomed  saint  yit,  but  ye  will  be 
arter  awhile,  I  reckon,  ef  ye  live  long  enough." 

Their  shadows  skulked  away  as  swiftly  as 
they  themselves,  even  more  furtively,  running 
on  ahead,  in  great  haste  to  be  gone.  The  fire- 
light slanted  through  the  woods  in  quick,  elu- 
sive fluctuations,  ever  dimmer,  ever  recurrently 
flaring,  and  when  the  jury  of  view  and  their 
companions,  alarmed  by  the  long  absence  of 
Persimmon  Sneed,  followed  the  strange  light 
through  the  woods  to  the  brink  of  the  burning 
spring,  they  found  naught  astir  save  the  vagrant 
shadows  of  the  great  boles  of  the  trees,  no  longer 
held  to  their  accustomed  orbit,  but  wandering 
through  the  woods  with  a  large  freedom. 


144  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

That  this  fire,  blazing  brilliantly  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  clear  spring  water,  was  kindled  by 
supernatural  power  was  not  for  a  moment 
doubted  by  the  mountaineers  who  had  never  be- 
fore heard  of  such  a  phenomenon,  and  the  spirit- 
ing away  of  Persimmon  Sneed  they  promptly 
ascribed  to  the  same  agency.  With  these 
thoughts  upon  them,  they  did  not  linger  long 
at  the  spot  where  he  had  met  so  mysterious  a 
fate.  Their  ringing  halloos,  with  which  the 
woods  were  enlivened,  took  on  vaguely  appalled 
cadences  ;  the  echoes  came  back  to  them  like 
mocking  shouts  ;  and  they  were  glad  enough  to 
ride  away  at  last  through  the  quiet  moonlit 
glades,  their  faltering  voices  silent,  leaving  that 
mystic  fire  slowly  dying  where  it  had  blazed  so 
long  on  the  face  of  the  water. 

A  more  extended  search,  later,  resulting  as 
fruitlessly,  the  idea  that  Persimmon  Sneed  had 
been  in  some  way  lured  bodily  within  the  grasp 
of  the  devil  prevailed  among  the  more  ignorant 
people  of  the  community ;  they  dolorously  sought 
to  point  the  moral  how  ill  the  headstrong  fare, 
and  speculated  gloomily  as  to  the  topic  on  which 
he  had  ventured  to  argue  with  Satan,  who  in 
rage  and  retaliation  had  whisked  him  away. 
But  there  was  a  class  of  citizens  in  Colbury  who 
hearkened  with  elated  sentiments  to  this  story 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  145 

of  the  burning  spring.  A  company  of  capital- 
ists was  promptly  organized,  every  inch  of 
attainable  land  on  the  mountain  was  quietly 
bought,  and  machinery  for  boring  for  oil  was 
already  at  the  spring  when  the  news  was  brought 
to  Selwyn  by  Hanway,  who,  not  having  seen  the 
young  stranger  for  the  past  week  or  so,  feared 
he  was  ill.  The  flakes  of  the  first  snow  of  the 
season  were  whirling  past  the  windows  —  no 
more  on  autumn  leaves  they  looked,  no  more  on 
far-off  bare  but  azure  mountains,  feigning  sum- 
mer. The  distant  ranges  were  ghostly  white. 
The  skeleton  woods  near  at  hand  were  stark  and 
black,  and  trembled  with  sudden  starts,  and 
strove  wildly  with  the  winds,  and  were  held  in 
an  inexorable  fate,  and  cried  and  groaned  aloud. 
Hanway  was  right  in  his  surmise,  for  Selwyn 
was  ill,  and  lay  on  the  lounge  wheeled  up  to  the 
fire.  His  cheeks  seemed  still  touched  with 
color,  the  reflection  from  the  ragged  red  smok- 
ing-] acket  which  he  wore,  but  a  sort  of  smitten 
pallid  doom  was  on  his  brow  and  in  his  eyes. 
His  gaze  dwelt  insistently  on  the  doctor,  the 
tall,  thin  practitioner  of  the  surrounding  coun- 
try, who  had  just  finished  an  examination  and 
was  slowly  returning  his  spectacles  to  their  case 
as  he  stood  before  the  fire.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
patient  expected  him  to  speak,  but  he  said  no- 
thing, and  looked  down  gravely  into  the  red  coals. 


146  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

Then  it  was  that  Hanway  narrated  the  sensa- 
tion of  the  neighborhood.  It  roused  Selwyn  to 
a  frenzy  of  excitement ;  his  disjointed,  despair- 
ing exclamations,  in  annotation,  as  it  were,  of 
the  story,  disclosed  his  own  discovery  of  the  oil, 
his  endeavors  to  secure  the  opinion  of  an  expert 
as  to  its  value,  his  efforts  to  buy  up  the  land, 
his  reasons  for  opposing  the  premature  opening 
of  a  road  which  might  reveal  the  presence  of  the 
oil  springs,  when  the  law  discriminating  in  favor 
of  oil  works  and  similar  interests  would  later 
make  the  way  thither  a  public  thoroughfare  at 
all  events.  He  cried  out  upon  his  hard  fate, 
when  money  might  mean  life  to  him ;  upon  the 
bitter  dispensation  of  the  mysterious  kindling  of 
those  hidden  secluded  waters  to  blazon  his  se- 
cret to  the  world,  to  enrich  others  through  his 
discovery  which  should  have  made  him  so  rich. 

The  dry,  spare  tone  of  the  physician  inter- 
rupted, —  a  trite  phrase  interdicting  agitation. 

"  Why,  doctor,"  said  Selwyn,  suddenly  com- 
prehending, "  you  think  my  present  wealth  will 
last  out  my  time  !  " 

Once  more  the  physician  looked  silently  into 
the  fire.  He  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  dying, 
but  he  had  lived  a  quiet  ascetic  life,  which  made 
his  sensibilities  tender,  and  he  did  not  get  used 
to  death.  "  I  wish  you  would  stay  with  him,  if 
you  can,"  he  said  to  Hanway  at  the  outer  door. 
"  It  will  be  a  very  short  time  now." 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  147 

It  was  even  shorter  than  they  thought.  The 
snow,  falling  then,  had  not  disappeared  from  the 
earth  when  the  picks  of  the  grave-diggers  cleft 
through  the  clods  in  the  secluded  little  moun- 
tain burying-ground.  It  was  easier  work  than 
they  had  anticipated,  although  the  earth  was 
frozen ;  and  the  grave  was  almost  prepared 
when  they  realized  that  the  ground  had  been 
broken  before,  and  that  here  was  the  deserted 
resting-place  of  the  stranger  who  had  come  so 
far  to  see  him.  Hanway  remembered  Selwyn's 
words,  his  aversion  to  the  idea  that  the  spot  was 
awaiting  him,  but  the  dark  November  day  was 
closing  in,  the  storm  clouds  were  gathering 
anew,  so  they  left  him  there,  and  this  time  the 
grave  held  its  tenant  fast. 

X. 

One  day  a  letter  was  mailed  in  Colbury  by  an 
unknown  hand,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Persimmon 
Sneed  and  it  fared  deliberately  by  way  of  Sand- 
ford  Cross-Roads  to  its  destination.  It  awoke 
there  the  wildest  excitement  and  delight,  for  al- 
though it  brazenly  asserted  that  Mr.  Persimmon 
Sneed  was  in  the  custody  of  the  writer,  and  that 
he  would  be  returned  safely  to  his  home  only 
upon  the  payment  of  one  hundred  dollars  in  a 
mysterious  manner  described,  —  otherwise  the 
writer  would  not  answer  for  consequences,  —  it 


148   The,  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

gave  assurance  that  he  was  alive  and  well,  and 
might  even  hope  to  see  friends  and  home  and 
freedom  once  more.  In  vain  the  sheriff  of  the 
county  expostulated  with  Mrs.  Sneed,  represent- 
ing that  the  law  was  the  proper  liberator  of  Per- 
simmon Sneed,  and  that  the  payment  of  money 
would  encourage  crime.  The  contradictory 
man's  wife  was  ready  to  commit  crime,  if  neces- 
sary, in  this  cause,  and  would  have  cheerfully 
cracked  the  bank  in  Colbury.  And  certainly 
this  seemed  almost  unavoidable  at  one  time,  for 
to  possess  herself  of  this  sum  of  her  husband's 
hoard  his  signature  was  essential.  The  poor 
woman,  in  her  limp  sunbonnet  and  best  calico 
dress,  clung  to  the  grating  of  the  teller's  win- 
dow, and  presented  in  futile  succession  her  hus- 
band's bank-book,  his  returned  checks,  and  even 
his  brand-new  check-book,  each  with  a  gush  of 
tears,  while  the  perplexed  official  remonstrated, 
and  explained,  and  rejected  each  persuasion  in 
turn,  passing  them  all  back  beneath  the  grating, 
and  alas !  keeping  the  money  on  his  side  of  those 
inexorable  bars.  It  seemed  to  poor  Mrs.  Sneed 
that  the  bank  was  of  opinion  that  Persimmon 
corporally  was  of  slight  consequence,  the  insti- 
tution having  the  true  value  of  the  man  on  de- 
posit. To  accommodate  matters,  however,  and 
that  the  poor  woman  should  not  be  weeping  daily 
and  indefinitely  on  the  maddened  teller's  win- 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  149 

dow,  an  intermediary  money-lender  was  found, 
who,  having  vainly  sought  to  induce  the  bank 
to  render  itself  responsible,  then  Mrs.  Sneed, 
who  had  naught  of  her  own,  then  a  number  of 
friends,  who  deemed  the  whole  enterprise  an 
effort  at  robbery  and  seemed  to  consider  Per- 
simmon a  good  riddance,  took  heart  of  grace 
and  made  the  plunge  at  a  rate  of  interest  which 
was  calculated  to  cloy  his  palate  forever  after. 
The  money  forthwith  went  a  roundabout  way 
according  to  the  directions  of  the  letter. 

It  came  to  its  destination  in  this  wise. 

Con  Kite's  distilling  enterprise  was  on  so 
small  a  scale  that  one  might  have  imagined  it  to 
be  altogether  outside  the  purview  of  the  law, 
which,  it  is  said,  does  not  take  note  de  minimis. 
One  of  those  grottoes  under  a  beetling  cliff, 
hardly  caves,  called  in  the  region  "  rock  houses," 
sufficed  to  contain  the  small  copper  and  its  appur- 
tenances, himself  and  his  partner  and  the  occa- 
sional jolly  guest.  It  was  approached  from  above 
rather  than  from  below,  by  a  winding  way,  beside 
the  cliff  between  great  boulders,  which  was  so 
steep  and  brambly  and  impracticable  that  it  was 
hardly  likely  to  be  espied  by  "  revenuers."  The 
rock  house  opened  on  space.  Beyond  the  narrow 
path  at  its  entrance  the  descent  was  sheer  to  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge  below. 

In  this  stronghold,  one  night,  Con  Hite  sat 


150  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

gloomy  and  depressed  beside  the  little  copper 
still  for  the  sake  of  which  he  risked  so  much. 
It  held  all  it  could  of  singlings,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  a  cheery  sight  in  the  shadowy  recesses  of  the 
rock  house.  He  regarded  it  with  mingled  pride 
and  affection,  often  declaring  it  "  the  smartest 
still  of  its  capacity  in  the  world."  To  him  it 
was  at  once  admirable  as  an  object  of  art  and  a 
superior  industrial  agent. 

"  An'  I  dunno  why  Narcissa  be  so  set  agin  it," 
he  muttered.  "  But  for  it  I  would  n't  hev 
money  enough  ter  git  a  start  in  this  world.  My 
mother  an'  she  could  n't  live  in  the  same  house 
whenst  we  git  married."  He  meditated  for  a 
moment,  and  shook  his  head  in  solemn  negation, 
for  his  mother  was  constructed  much  after  the 
pattern  of  Narcissa  herself.  "  An'  /  would  n't 
live  a  minit  alongside  o'  Ben  Han  way  ef  I  war 
Nar'sa's  husband.  Ben  would  n't  let  me  say 
my  soul 's  my  own.  I  be  'bleeged  ter  mak  the 
money  fur  a  start  o'  cattle  an'  sech  myse'f ,  an' 
hev  a  house  an'  home  o'  my  own." 

And  then  he  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth 
and  sighed.  For  even  his  care  seemed  futile. 
It  was  true  that  the  fair-haired  young  stranger 
was  dead,  and  he  had  a  pang  of  self-reproach 
whenever  he  thought  of  his  jealousy,  as  if  he  had 
wished  him  ill.  But  she  had  worn  a  cold  white 
unresponsive  face  when  he  had  seen  her  last; 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  151 

she  did  not  listen  to  what  he  said,  her  mind  evi- 
dently elsewhere.  She  looked  at  him  as  if  she 
did  not  see  him.  She  did  not  think  of  him. 
He  was  sure  that  this  was  not  caprice.  It  was 
some  deep  absorbing  feeling  in  which  he  had  no 
share. 

The  moon,  like  some  fair  presence,  looked  in 
at  the  broad  portal.  Outside,  the  white  tissues 
of  her  misty  diaphanous  draperies  trailed  along 
the  dark  mountain  slopes  beneath  the  dim  stars 
as  she  wended  westward.  Afar  down  the  gorge 
one  might  catch  glimpses  of  a  glossy  lustre  where 
the  evergreen  laurel,  white  with  frost,  moved  in 
the  autumn  wind.  He  lifted  his  head  to  mark 
its  melancholy  cadence,  and  while  he  listened,  the 
moonlight  was  suddenly  crowded  from  the  door 
as  three  men  rushed  in,  half  helping  and  half 
constraining  a  fourth  man  forward. 

"  Durn  my  boots  ef  I  did  n't  f  urgit  the  pass- 
word !  "  cried  Nick  Peters  with  his  little  falsetto 
laugh,  that  seemed  keyed  for  a  fleer,  although 
it  was  most  graciously  modulated  now.  "Ye 
mought  hev  shot  us  fur  revenuers." 

"  I  mought  hev  shot  ye  fur  wuss,"  Con  Hite 
growled,  rising  slowly  from  his  chair,  his  big 
dark  eyes  betokening  his  displeasure.  "  I  dunno 
how  ye  ever  kem  ter  know  this  place." 

"  It  '11  go  no  furder,  Con,  I  '11  swear,"  said  the 
horse-thief,  lifting  his  hand  to  Kite's  shoulder, 


152  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

and  affecting  to  see  in  his  words  an  appeal  for 
secrecy.  "  This,"  he  added  blandly,  "  is  Mr. 
Persimmon  Sneed,  ez  hev  been  a-visitin'  me. 
Lemme  make  ye  acquainted." 

He  seemed  to  perceive  nothing  incongruous  in 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Persimmon  Sneed  should  be 
blindfolded.  But  as  Con  Hite  looked  at  the 
elder  man,  standing  helpless,  his  head  held 
slightly  forward,  the  sight  apparently  struck  his 
risibilities,  and  his  wonted  geniality  rose  to  the 
occasion. 

"  An'  do  Mr.  Persimmon  Sneed  always  wear 
blinders  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  guffaw. 

Peters  seemed  immeasurably  relieved  by  the 
change  of  tone. 

"  Whilst  visitin'  me,  he  do,"  he  remarked. 
"  Mr.  Persimmon  hev  got  sech  a  fine  mem'ry  fur 
localities,  ye  see." 

Hite  with  a  single  gesture  pulled  off  the  band- 
age. "  Waal,  let  him  look  about  him  hyar.  I 
s'pose  ye  hev  ter  be  more  partic'lar  'n  me  'count 
o'  that  stranger  man's  horse." 

Peters  changed  countenance,  his  attention 
riveted.  "  What  horse?  "  he  demanded. 

"  The  horse  of  the  man  ez  war  kilt,  —  ye  know 
folks  hev  laid  that  job  ter  you-uns.  Jerry," 
turning  aside  to  his  colleague,  who  had  done 
naught  but  stare,  "  whar  's  yer  manners  ?  Why 
n't  ye  gin  the  comp'ny  a  drink  ?  " 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  153 

Hite  shoved  the  chair  in  which  he  had  been 
seated  to  Persimmon  Sneed,  who  was  lugubri- 
ously rubbing  his  eyes,  and  flung  himself  down 
on  a  boulder  lying  almost  outside  of  the  recess 
in  the  moonlight,  his  long  booted  and  spurred 
legs  stretching  far  across  the  entrance.  His  hat 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  its  brim  upturned,  re- 
vealed his  bluff  open  face  —  it  held  no  craft 
surely ;  he  hardly  seemed  to  notice  how  in- 
sistently Peters  pressed  after  him,  unmindful  of 
his  henchmen  and  Jerry  imbibing  appreciatively 
the  product  of  the  cheerful  little  copper  still. 

"But  I  never  done  sech  ez  that,"  protested 
Peters.  "  I  always  stop  short  o'  bloodshed.  I 
never  viewed  the  man's  beastis,  ye  '11  bear  me 
witness,  Con." 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Con,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  dunno 
nuthin'  'bout  yer  doin's.  Whar  's  Mr.  Sneed's 
horse?" 

"  Never  seen  him,  —  never  laid  eyes  on  him  ! 
How  folks  kin  hev  the  heart  ter  'cuse  me  of  sech 
doin's  ez  I  never  done  !  "  he  lifted  his  eyes  as  if 
appealing  to  heaven. 

"The  killin'  's  the  wust;  an'  Mr.  Sneed's  crit- 
ter bein'  gone  too  mought  make  folks  lay  it  ter 
ye  fur  sure,"  persisted  Hite. 

"  I  ain't  seen  Mr.  Sneed's  horse.  Mr.  Sneed  — 
ye  would  n't  b'lieve  it  ter  look  at  him,  but  he  's 
a  ransomed  saint !  ha !  ha  !  The  money  fur  him 


154  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

will  be  fetched  hyar  ter  yer  still.  I  sent  fur  it 
ter  kem  by  Jake  Glenn ;  he  knows  ye,  an'  ye 
know  him." 

Con  Hite's  open  brow  did  not  cloud.  If  there 
were  any  significance  perceptible  in  the  fact  that 
Mr.  Persimmon  Sneed,  with  so  fine  a  head  for 
locality,  should  be  able  to  identify  only  the  still 
among  his  various  shelters  during  his  "visit" 
to  Nick  Peters,  Con  Hite  made  no  sign. 

"  Lord,  how  glad  I  '11  be  ter  git  rid  o'  him !  " 
Peters  said  in  an  undertone  to  Hite.  "  He  hev 
mighty  nigh  argufied  me  ter  death,  —  'bout 
sperits,  an'  witches,  an'  salvation,  an'  law,  an' 
craps,  an'  horse-flesh,  an'  weather  signs.  I  be 
sorter  'feard  his  wife  won't  pay  nuthin'  ter  git 
him  again.  He  'pears  sorter  under  the  weather 
now,  or  eavesdroppin'  or  suthin'.  The  money  '11 
pay  me  mighty  pore  fur  my  trouble.  Thar  — 
what 's  that  ?  " 

He  paused  to  listen  ;  there  was  a  sound  other 
than  the  tinkling  of  the  little  rill  near  at  hand 
or  the  blare  of  the  autumn  wind.  A  stone  came 
rolling  down  the  path,  dislodged  by  a  cautious 
step,  —  then  another.  Hite  drew  a  revolver 
from  his  pocket,  and,  holding  it  in  his  right 
hand,  stepped  out  on  the  rugged  little  parapet 
and  stood  there,  with  the  depths  of  the  gorge 
below  him,  looking  up  the  ascent  with  the  moon- 
light in  his  face.  He  spoke  in  a  low  voice  to 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  155 

some  one  approaching,  and  was  answered  in  the 
same  tone.  He  stepped  back  to  give  the  new- 
comer space  to  enter,  and  as  Jake  Glenn  came 
in  held  out  his  hand  for  the  package  the  mes- 
senger bore. 

"  Let 's  see  it,  Nick,"  he  said,  tearing  it  open ; 
"  it 's  the  money  sure  enough." 

Old  Persimmon  Sneed  turned  his  head  with 
a  certain  alert  interest.  Perhaps  he  himself 
had  doubted  whether  his  wife  would  think  him 
worth  the  money.  There  was  a  general  flutter 
of  good-natured  gratulation,  and  it  seemed  at 
the  moment  only  some  preposterous  mistake  that 
Con  Hite  should  put  it  into  Persimmon  Sneed's 
lean  paw  and  close  his  trembling  fingers  over  it. 

"  Now,  scoot ! "  he  bawled  out  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  the  little  den  ringing  with  the  echoes 
of  his  excitement,  a  second  revolver  drawn  in 
his  left  hand.  "  I  '11  gin  ye  a  day's  start  o' 
these  fellers."  He  presented  the  muzzle  of  one 
pistol  to  Peters 's  head,  and  with  the  other  he 
covered  one  of  the  two  henchmen  in  the  re- 
cess of  the  little  rock  house.  The  other  sprang 
up  from  a  barrel  where  he  sat  wiping  his  mouth 
with  the  back  of  his  hand ;  but  Jerry,  suddenly 
realizing  the  situation,  put  out  a  dexterous  foot, 
and  the  horse-thief  fell  full  length  upon  the 
floor,  his  pistol  discharging  as  he  went  down. 
In  the  clamor  of  the  echoes,  and  the  smoke  and 


156   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

the  flare,  Persimmon  Sneed  disappeared,  hear- 
ing as  he  went  a  wild  protest,  and  a  nimbleness 
of  argument  second  hardly  to  his  own,  as  Nick 
Peters  cried  out  that  he  was  robbed,  his  hard 
earnings  were  wrested  from  him,  the  money  was 
his,  paid  him  as  a  price,  and  Con  Hite  had  let 
Mr.  Persimmon  Sneed  run  off  with  it,  allowing 
him  nothing  for  his  trouble. 

"  It  war  his  money,"  Con  Hite  averred,  when 
they  had  grown  calmer,  and  Jake  Glenn  had 
returned  from  a  reconnoissance  with  the  news 
that  Hite's  father  had  lent  the  fleeing  Persim- 
mon a  horse,  and  he  was  by  this  time  five  miles 
away  in  the  Cove.  "  He  could  have  paid  you 
for  yer  trouble  in  ketchin'  him  ef  he  had  wanted 
ter." 

"  It  war  not  his  money,"  protested  Peters, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  It  war  sent  ter  me  will- 
ingly, fur  a  valid  consideration,  an'  ye  let  him 
hev  the  money,  an'  his  wife  hev  got  the  valid 
consideration  —  an'  hyar  I  be  lef '  with  the  bag 
ter  hold!" 

It  may  be  that  Peters  had  absorbed  some  of 
the  craft  of  argument  by  mere  propinquity  to 
Persimmon  Sneed,  or  that  Con  Hite's  conscience 
was  unduly  tender,  for  he  long  entertained  a 
moral  doubt  touching  his  course  in  this  transac- 
tion, —  whether  he  had  a  right  to  pay  the  ran- 
som money  which  Nick  Peters  had  extorted 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  157 

from  Persimmon  Sneed's  wife  to  Persimmon 
Sneed  himself,  thereby  defrauding  Nick  Peters 
of  the  fruit  of  his  labor.  Perhaps  this  untoward 
state  of  dubitation  came  about  from  Narcissa's 
scornful  comment. 

"  Ye  mought  hev  known  that  old  man  Per- 
simmon Sneed  would  have  made  off  with  the 
money,"  she  said,  remembering  his  reproving 
glare  at  her.  "  I  would  n't  hev  trested  him 
with  a  handful  o'  cornfield  peas." 

"  But  I  expected  him  ter  make  off  with  it," 
protested  the  amazed  Con  ;  "  that 's  why  I  gin  it 
ter  him." 

"  Then  ye  air  jes'  ez  bad  ez  he  is,"  she  re- 
torted coldly. 

And  thus  it  was  he  examined  his  conscience. 

Persimmon  Sneed  had  no  doubts  whatever  as 
to  the  ownership  of  the  money  in  his  pocket, 
when  one  fine  morning  he  walked  into  his  own 
door,  as  dictatorial,  as  set  in  his  own  opinion  as 
ever ;  the  only  change  to  be  detected  in  his 
manners  and  conversation  thereafter  was  the 
enigmatical  assertion  at  times  that  he  was  a 
"  ransomed  saint,"  followed  by  a  low  chuckle  of 
enjoyment.  Those  who  heard  this  often  made 
bold  to  say  to  one  another  that  he  "  did  n't  act 
like  it,"  and  this  opinion  was  shared  by  the 
sheriff  who  futilely  sought  some  information 
from  him  touching  the  lair  of  the  horse-thieves, 


158   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

looking  to  brilliant  exploits  of  capture.  Such 
details  as  he  could  secure  were  so  uncertain  and 
contradictory  as  to  render  him  suspicious  that 
the  truth  was  purposely  withheld. 

"  Ye  oughter  remember  these  men  air  crim'nal 
offenders  agin  the  law,  Mr.  Sneed,"  he  said. 

"Mebbe  so,"  assented  Persimmon  Sneed, 
"  mebbe  so ; "  but  the  situation  of  Con  Hite's 
still  was  the  only  locality  which  he  had  visited 
of  which  he  was  sure,  and  in  gratitude  to  his 
rescuer  he  held  his  peace. 

That  he  was  not  so  softened  to  the  world  at 
large  was  manifested  in  the  fact  that  he  threat- 
ened to  plead  usury  against  the  money-lender, 
and  forthwith  brought  him  down  with  a  run  to 
the  beggaries  of  the  legal  rate.  He  was  wont, 
moreover,  to  go  to  the  teller  of  the  bank  at  Col- 
bury  and  demand  of  that  distracted  man  such 
of  his  papers  as  were  from  time  to  time  lost  or 
mislaid,  having  learned  from  his  wife  that  she 
had  made  the  official  the  custodian  of  his  valua- 
bles, these  being  his  bank-book,  the  ancient 
returned  checks,  and  the  unused  check-book. 

The  points  which  he  had  so  laboriously  made 
plain  to  the  jury  of  view  proved  a  total  loss  of 
perspicacious  reasoning,  for  the  land  was  forth- 
with condemned  and  the  road  opened,  any  oil- 
boring  company  being  allowed  by  law  a  right  of 
way  thirty  feet  wide.  The  heavy  hauling  of  the 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  159 

oil  company  had  already  made  a  tolerable  wagon 
track,  and  the  passing  back  and  forth  of  the 
men  and  teams  and  machinery  added  an  ele- 
ment of  interest  and  excitement  to  the  thor- 
oughfare such  as  Narcissa's  wildest  dreams  had 
never  prefigured.  She  had  no  heart  for  it  now. 
When  the  creak  of  wheels  on  the  frozen  ground, 
and  the  cries  of  the  drivers,  and  the  thud  of  the 
hoofs  of  the  straining  four-horse  teams  heralded 
an  approach,  she  was  wont  to  draw  close  the 
batten  shutter  of  the  window  and  sit  brooding 
over  the  fire,  staring  with  moody  eyes  into  the 
red  coals,  where  she  saw  much  invisible  to  the 
simple  Ben.  He  knew  vaguely  that  her  grief 
was  for  the  fair-haired  stranger,  but  he  could 
not  dream  in  what  remorseful  wise.  She  had 
not  failed  to  perceive  her  own  agency  in  the  be- 
trayal of  his  secret,  when  the  story  of  the  dis- 
covery of  the  oil  was  blazoned  to  all  the  world 
by  those  mystically  flaring  waters  in  the  deeps 
of  the  mountain  night.  It  was  she  who  had 
idly  kindled  them ;  she  who  had  robbed  him  of 
his  rights,  of  the  wealth  that  these  interlopers 
were  garnering.  She  had  sent  him  to  his  grave 
baffled,  beaten,  forlorn,  wondering  at  the  mys- 
tery of  the  hand  that  out  of  the  dark  had  smit- 
ten him.  She  kept  her  own  counsel.  Her  white 
face  grew  set  and  stern.  Her  words  were  few. 
She  had  no  tears.  And  Ben,  who  found  his 


160  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

tyrant  only  the  harder  and  the  colder,  scarcely 
remonstrated,  and  could  only  marvel  when  one 
keen,  chill  afternoon  she  sprang  up,  throwing 
her  brown  shawl  over  her  head,  and  declared 
that  she  was  going  to  the  oil  wells  to  see  for 
herself  what  progress  was  making  there. 

All  sylvan  grace  had  departed  from  the  spot. 
As  the  two  stood  on  the  verge  of  the  clear  space, 
now  gashed  deep  in  every  direction  in  the  woods 
and  larger  by  a  hundred  acres,  grim  derricks 
rose  sharply  outlined  against  the  wintry  sky.  It 
was  barred  with  strata  of  gray  clouds  in  such 
sombre  neutrality  of  tint  that  one,  in  that  it  was 
less  gloomy  than  the  others,  gave  a  suggestion 
of  blue.  Patches  of  snow  lay  about  the  ground. 
Cinders  and  smoke  had  blackened  them  here 
and  there.  The  steam-engine,  with  its  cylin- 
drical boiler,  seemed  in  the  dusk  some  un- 
canny monster  that  had  taken  up  its  abode  here, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  desolation  it  had  wrought, 
and  lived  by  ill  deeds.  It  was  letting  off  steam, 
and  now  and  then  it  gave  a  puffing  sigh  as  if  it 
were  tired  after  its  day's  work.  The  laborers 
were  of  a  different  type  from  the  homely  neigh- 
bors, and  returned  the  contempt  with  which  the 
mountaineers  gazed  upon  them.  Great  piles  of 
wood  showed  how  the  forests  were  being  rifled 
for  fuel.  Many  trees  had  been  felled  in  provi- 
dent foresight,  and  lay  along  the  ground  in  vast 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  161 

lengths,  awaiting  the  axe ;  so  many  that  adown 
the  avenues  thus  opened  toward  the  valley  a 
wan  glimmering  caught  the  girl's  eye,  and  she 
recognized  the  palings  of  the  little  mountain 
graveyard. 

She  clutched  her  brother's  arm  and  pointed 
to  it.  Her  eyes  grew  dilated  and  wild,  her  face 
was  pale  and  drawn ;  her  hand  trembled  as  she 
held  it  out. 

"  Ye  see,  Ben,  he 's  close  enough  ter  view  it 
all  —  an'  mebbe  he  does  —  an'  he  knows  now 
who  he  hev  got  ter  thank  fur  it  all  —  an'  I  wisht 
he  war  hyar,  whar  I  am,  an'  I  war  thar,  whar  he 
is." 

Her  brother  thought  for  the  moment  that  she 
was  raving.  The  next  she  caught  her  shawl 
over  her  head,  hoodwise,  the  wind  tossing  her 
bright  hair,  and  declared  that  she  was  cold,  and 
upbraided  him  for  bringing  her  on  this  long, 
chilling  tramp,  and  protested  that  she  would 
come  never  again. 

He  came  often  afterward.  The  spot  seemed 
to  have  a  fascination  for  him.  And  within 
sound  of  the  cheerful  hubbub  and  busy  whir  of 
the  industry  he  would  lean  over  the  palings  and 
look  at  the  grave,  covered  sometimes  with  a  drift 
of  leaves,  and  sometimes  with  a  drift  of  snow, 
and  think  of  the  two  men  that  it  had  successively 
housed,  and  nurse  his  grudge  against  the  com- 


162   The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

pany.  With  an  unreasoning  hatred  of  it,  Han- 
way  felt  that  both  were  victims  of  the  great 
strong  corporation  that  was  to  reap  the  value 
of  the  discovery  which  was  not  its  own  save  by 
accident.  He  could  not  appraise  the  justice  of 
the  dispensation  by  which  the  keen  observation 
of  the  one  man,  and  the  science  and  experience 
that  the  other  had  brought  to  the  enterprise, 
should  fall  so  far  short  of  achievement,  while 
an  idle  story,  the  gossip  of  the  day,  should  fill 
the  hands  of  those  who  were  strangers  to  the 
very  thought.  He  grudged  every  augury  of 
success  ;  he  welcomed  every  detail  of  difficulty. 
As  time  went  on,  the  well  was  said  to  be  of  inter- 
mittent flow,  and  new  borings  resulted  in  naught 
but  vast  floods  of  sulphur  water.  Finally,  when 
the  admitted  truth  pervaded  the  community,  — 
that  the  oil  was  practically  exhausted,  that  it 
had  long  since  ceased  to  pay  expenses,  that  the 
company  was  a  heavy  loser  by  the  enterprise,  — 
he  was  as  a  man  appeased. 

The  result  was  succeeded  by  a  change  in  Nar- 
cissa  so  radical  and  immediate  that  Constant 
Hite  could  but  perceive  the  fact  that  it  was  in- 
duced by  the  failure  and  abandonment  of  the 
work.  She  grew  placid  as  of  yore,  and  was 
softened,  and  now  and  again  the  gentle  melan- 
choly into  which  she  fell  suggested  sad  and 
reminiscent  pleasure  rather  than  the  remorseful 


The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain.  163 

and  desperate  sorrow  that  she  had  known.  He 
began  to  realize  that  it  was  no  sentimental  and 
love-stricken  grief  she  had  felt  for  Selwyn,  but  a 
sympathy  akin  to  his  own  and  to  her  brother's ; 
and  since  the  disappointment  of  the  hope  of 
fortune  must  needs  have  come  to  Selwyn  at  last, 
they  made  shift  to  resign  themselves,  and  were 
wont  to  talk  freely  of  the  dead  with  that  affec- 
tionate and  immediate  interest  which  seems  to 
prolong  the  span  of  a  mortal's  day  on  earth, 
like  the  tender  suffusive  radiance  of  the  after- 
glow of  a  sunken  sun. 

The  road  fell  quickly  into  disuse  after  the 
abandonment  of  the  work.  In  the  storms  of 
winter,  trees  were  uprooted  and  thrown  athwart 
the  way;  overhanging  rocks,  splitting  in  the 
freeze,  precipitated  obstructive  avalanches  upon 
the  dim  serpentine  convolutions ;  the  wind  piled 
drifts  of  dead  leaves  above  the  turns ;  and  in 
the  spring  grass  began  to  grow  in  the  tracks  of 
the  wheels. 

It  held  no  woeful  memories  now  for  Narcissa. 
She  loved  to  sit  on  the  step  of  the  stile  and 
watch  through  the  leafless  sunlit  trees  the  silver 
haze  shimmering  in  the  valley,  where  the  winter 
wheat  was  all  of  an  emerald  richness,  and  the 
blue  mountains  afar  off  so  near  akin  to  the 
aspect  of  heaven  that  one  might  hardly  mark 
where  the  horizon  line  merged  the  sweet  soli- 


164  The  Mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 

tudes  of  earth  into  the  solitary  sky.  Many  a 
day,  the  spring,  loitering  along  the  shadow- 
flecked  vistas,  with  the  red  maple-blooms  over- 
head and  violets  underfoot,  was  the  only  trav- 
eler to  be  seen  on  the  deserted  road.  And 
the  pensive  dusk  was  wont  to  deepen  into  the 
serene  vernal  night,  sweet  with  the  scent  of  the 
budding  wild  cherry,  and  astir  with  timorous 
tentative  rustlings  as  of  half-fledged  breezes, 
and  illumined  only  with  the  gentle  lustre  of  the 
white  stars ;  for  never  again  was  the  darkness 
emblazoned  with  that  haggard  incandescence  so 
long  the  mystery  of  Witch-Face  Mountain. 


TAKING  THE  BLUE  RIBBON  AT  THE 
COUNTY  FAIR. 

JENKS  HOLLIS  sat  on  the  fence.  He  slowly 
turned  the  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek,  and 
lifting  up  his  voice  spoke  with  an  oracular 
drawl :  — 

"  Ef  he  kin  take  the  certif 'cate  it 's  the  mos' 
ez  he  kin  do.  He  ain't  never  a-goin'  ter  git  no 
premi-wm  in  this  life,  sure  's  ye  air  a  born  sin- 
"ner." 

And  he  relapsed  into  silence.  His  long  legs 
dangled  dejectedly  among  the  roadside  weeds; 
his  brown  jeans  trousers,  that  had  despaired  of 
ever  reaching  his  ankles,  were  ornamented  here 
and  there  with  ill-adjusted  patches,  and  his  loose- 
fitting  coat  was  out  at  the  elbows.  An  old  white 
wool  hat  drooped  over  his  eyes,  which  were 
fixed  absently  on  certain  distant  blue  mountain 
ranges,  that  melted  tenderly  into  the  blue  of 
the  noonday  sky,  and  framed  an  exquisite  mo- 
saic of  poly-tinted  fields  in  the  valley,  far,  far 
below  the  grim  gray  crag  on  which  his  little 
home  was  perched. 

Despite  his  long  legs  he  was  a  light  weight,  or 


166    The,  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

he  would  not  have  chosen  as  his  favorite  seat  so 
rickety  a  fence.  His  interlocutor,  a  heavier  man, 
apparently  had  some  doubts,  for  he  leaned  only 
slightly  against  one  of  the  projecting  rails  as  he 
whittled  a  pine  stick,  and  with  his  every  move- 
ment the  frail  structure  trembled.  The  log 
cabin  seemed  as  rickety  as  the  fence.  The 
little  front  porch  had  lost  a  puncheon  here  and 
there  in  the  flooring  —  perhaps  on  some  cold 
winter  night  when  Hollis's  energy  was  not  suf- 
ficiently exuberant  to  convey  him  to  the  wood- 
pile ;  the  slender  posts  that  upheld  its  roof  seemed 
hardly  strong  enough  to  withstand  the  weight  of 
the  luxuriant  vines  with  their  wealth  of  golden 
gourds  which  had  clambered  far  over  the  moss- 
grown  clapboards  ;  the  windows  had  fewer  panes 
of  glass  than  rags ;  and  the  chimney,  built  of 
clay  and  sticks,  leaned  portentously  away  from 
the  house.  The  open  door  displayed  a  rough, 
uncovered  floor ;  a  few  old  rush-bottomed  chairs ; 
a  bedstead  with  a  patch-work  calico  quilt,  the 
mattress  swagging  in  the  centre  and  showing  the 
badly  arranged  cords  below ;  strings  of  bright 
red  pepper  hanging  from  the  dark  rafters;  a 
group  of  tow-headed,  grave-faced,  barefooted 
children ;  and,  occupying  almost  one  side  of  the 
room,  a  broad,  deep,  old-fashioned  fireplace, 
where  winter  and  summer  a  lazy  fire  burned 
under  a  lazy  pot. 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    167 

Notwithstanding  the  poverty  of  the  aspect  of 
the  place  and  the  evident  sloth  of  its  master, 
it  was  characterized  by  a  scrupulous  cleanliness 
strangely  at  variance  with  its  forlorn  deficien- 
cies. The  rough  floor  was  not  only  swept  but 
scoured  ;  the  dark  rafters,  whence  depended  the 
flaming  banners  of  the  red  pepper,  harbored  no 
cobwebs ;  the  grave  faces  of  the  white-haired 
children  bore  no  more  dirt  than  was  consistent 
with  their  recent  occupation  of  making  mud- 
pies  ;  and  the  sedate,  bald-headed  baby,  lying 
silent  but  wide-awake  in  an  uncouth  wooden 
cradle,  was  as  clean  as  clear  spring  water  and 
yellow  soap  could  make  it.  Mrs.  Hollis  herself, 
seen  through  the  vista  of  opposite  open  doors, 
energetically  rubbing  the  coarse  wet  clothes 
upon  the  resonant  washboard,  seemed  neat 
enough  in  her  blue-and-white  checked  homespun 
dress,  and  with  her  scanty  hair  drawn  smoothly 
back  from  her  brow  into  a  tidy  little  knot  on 
the  top  of  her  head. 

Spare  and  gaunt  she  was,  and  with  many  lines 
in  her  prematurely  old  face.  Perhaps  they  told 
of  the  hard  fight  her  brave  spirit  waged  against 
the  stern  ordering  of  her  life ;  of  the  struggles 
with  squalor,  —  inevitable  concomitant  of  pov- 
erty, —  and  to  keep  together  the  souls  and  bod- 
ies of  those  numerous  children,  with  no  more 
efficient  assistance  than  could  be  wrung  from 


168    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

her  reluctant  husband  in  the  short  intervals 
when  he  did  not  sit  on  the  fence.  She  managed 
as  well  as  she  could  ;  there  was  an  abundance  of 
fine  fruit  in  that  low  line  of  foliage  behind  the 
house  — but  everybody  on  Old  Bear  Mountain 
had  fine  fruit.  Something  rarer,  she  had  good 
vegetables  —  the  planting  and  hoeing  being  her 
own  work  and  her  eldest  daughter's ;  an  occa- 
sional shallow  furrow  representing  the  contribu- 
tion of  her  husband's  plough.  The  althea-bushes 
and  the  branches  of  the  laurel  sheltered  a  goodly 
number  of  roosting  hens  in  these  September 
nights  ;  and  to  the  pond,  which  had  been  formed 
by  damming  the  waters  of  the  spring  branch  in 
the  hollow  across  the  road,  was  moving  even 
now  a  stately  procession  of  geese  in  single  file. 
These  simple  belongings  were  the  trophies  of  a 
gallant  battle  against  unalterable  conditions  and 
the  dragging,  dispiriting  clog  of  her  husband's 
inertia. 

His  inner  life  —  does  it  seem  hard  to  realize 
that  in  that  uncouth  personality  concentred  the 
complex,  incomprehensible,  ever-shifting  emo- 
tions of  that  inner  life  which,  after  all,  is  so 
much  stronger,  and  deeper,  and  broader  than 
the  material  ?  Here,  too,  beat  the  hot  heart  of 
humanity  —  beat  with  no  measured  throb.  He 
had  his  hopes,  his  pleasure,  his  pain,  like  those 
of  a  higher  culture,  differing  only  in  object,  and 


The,  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    169 

something  perhaps  in  degree.  His  disappoint- 
ments were  bitter  and  lasting ;  his  triumphs,  few 
and  sordid  ;  his  single  aspiration  —  to  take  the 
premium  offered  by  the  directors  of  the  Kildeer 
County  Fair  for  the  best  equestrian. 

This  incongruous  and  unpromising  ambition 
had  sprung  up  in  this  wise  :  Between  the  coun- 
try people  of  Kildeer  County  and  the  citizens  of 
the  village  of  Colbury,  the  county-seat,  existed 
a  bitter  and  deeply  rooted  animosity  manifesting 
itself  at  conventions,  elections  for  the  legisla- 
ture, etc.,  the  rural  population  voting  as  a  unit 
against  the  town's  candidate.  On  all  occasions 
of  public  meetings  there  was  a  struggle  to  crush 
any  invidious  distinction  against  the  "country 
boys,"  especially  at  the  annual  fair.  Here  to 
the  rustics  of  Kildeer  County  came  the  tug  of 
war.  The  population  of  the  outlying  districts 
was  more  numerous,  and,  when  it  could  be  used 
as  a  suffrage-engine,  all-powerful ;  but  the  region 
immediately  adjacent  to  the  town  was  far  more 
fertile.  On  those  fine  meadows  grazed  the 
graceful  Jersey ;  there  gamboled  sundry  long- 
tailed  colts  with  long-tailed  pedigrees ;  there 
greedy  Berkshires  fattened  themselves  to  ab- 
normal proportions;  and  the  merinos  could 
hardly  walk,  for  the  weight  of  their  own  rich 
wardrobes.  The  well-to-do  farmers  of  this  sec- 
tion were  hand-in-glove  with  the  town's  people  ; 


170    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

they  drove  their  trotters  in  every  day  or  so  to 
get  their  mail,  to  chat  with  their  cronies,  to  at- 
tend to  their  affairs  in  court,  to  sell  or  to  buy 
—  their  pleasures  centred  in  the  town,  and  they 
turned  the  cold  shoulder  upon  the  country, 
which  supported  them,  and  gave  their  influence 
to  Colbury,  accounting  themselves  an  integrant 
part  of  it.  Thus,  at  the  fairs  the  town  claimed 
the  honor  and  glory.  The  blue  ribbon  deco- 
rated cattle  and  horses  bred  within  ten  miles  of 
the  flaunting  flag  on  the  judges'  stand,  and  the 
foaming  mountain-torrents  and  the  placid  stream 
in  the  valley  beheld  no  cerulean  hues  save  those 
of  the  sky  which  they  reflected. 

The  premium  offered  this  year  for  the  best 
rider  was,  as  it  happened,  a  new  feature,  and 
excited  especial  interest.  The  country's  blood 
was  up.  Here  was  something  for  which  it  could 
fairly  compete,  with  none  of  the  disadvantages 
of  the  false  position  in  which  it  was  placed. 
Hence  a  prosperous  landed  proprietor,  the 
leader  of  the  rural  faction,  dwelling  midway 
between  the  town  and  the  range  of  mountains 
that  bounded  the  county  on  the  north  and  east, 
bethought  himself  one  day  of  Jenkins  Hollis, 
whose  famous  riding  had  been  the  feature  of  a 
certain  dashing  cavalry  charge  —  once  famous, 
too  —  forgotten  now  by  all  but  the  men  who, 
for  the  first  and  only  time  in  their  existence, 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    171 

penetrated  in  those  war  days  the  blue  mountains 
fencing  in  their  county  from  the  outer  world, 
and  looked  upon  the  alien  life  beyond  that 
wooded  barrier.  The  experience  of  those  four 
years,  submerged  in  the  whirling  rush  of  events 
elsewhere,  survives  in  these  eventless  regions  in 
a  dreamy,  dispassionate  sort  of  longevity.  And 
Jenkins  Hollis's  feat  of  riding  stolidly  —  one 
could  hardly  say  bravely  —  up  an  almost  sheer 
precipice  to  a  flame-belching  battery  came  sud- 
denly into  the  landed  magnate's  recollection 
with  the  gentle  vapors  and  soothing  aroma  of  a 
meditative  after-dinner  pipe.  Quivering  with 
party  spirit,  Squire  Goodlet  sent  for  Hollis  and 
offered  to  lend  him  the  best  horse  on  the  place, 
and  a  saddle  and  bridle,  if  he  would  go  down 
to  Colbury  and  beat  those  town  fellows  out  on 
their  own  ground. 

No  misgivings  had  Hollis.  The  inordinate 
personal  pride  characteristic  of  the  mountaineer 
precluded  his  feeling  a  shrinking  pain  at  the 
prospect  of  being  presented,  a  sorry  contrast, 
among  the  well-clad,  well-to-do  town's  people,  to 
compete  in  a  public  contest.  He  did  not  ap- 
preciate the  difference  —  he  thought  himself  as 
good  as  the  best. 

And  to-day,  complacent  enough,  he  sat  upon 
the  rickety  fence  at  home,  oracularly  dispar- 
aging the  equestrian  accomplishments  of  the 
town's  noted  champion. 


172    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

"  I  dunno  —  I  dunno,"  said  his  young  com- 
panion doubtfully.  "  Hackett  sets  mighty  firm 
onto  his  saddle.  He  's  ez  straight  ez  any  shingle, 
an'  ez  tough  ez  a  pine-knot.  He  come  up  hyar 
las'  summer — war  it  las'  summer,  now?  No, 
't  war  summer  afore  las'  —  with  some  o'  them 
other  Colbury  folks,  a-fox-huntin',  an'  a-deer- 
huntin,  an'  one  thing  an'  'nother.  I  seen  'em 
a  time  or  two  in  the  woods.  An'  he  kin  ride 
jes'  ez  good  'mongst  the  gullies  and  boulders 
like  ez  ef  he  had  been  born  in  the  hills.  He 
ain't  a-goin'  ter  be  beat  easy." 

"  It  don't  make  no  differ,"  retorted  Jenks 
Hollis.  "  He  '11  never  git  no  premi-wm.  The 
certif 'cate  's  good  a-plenty  fur  what  ridin'  he 
kin  do." 

Doubt  was  still  expressed  in  the  face  of  the 
young  man,  but  he  said  no  more,  and,  after  a 
short  silence,  Mr.  Hollis,  perhaps  not  relishing 
his  visitor's  want  of  appreciation,  dismounted, 
so  to  speak,  from  the  fence,  and  slouched  off 
slowly  up  the  road. 

Jacob  Brice  still  stood  leaning  against  the 
rails  and  whittling  his  pine  stick,  in  no  wise  an- 
gered or  dismayed  by  his  host's  unceremonious 
departure,  for  social  etiquette  is  not  very  rigid 
on  Old  Bear  Mountain.  He  was  a  tall  athletic 
fellow,  clad  in  a  suit  of  brown  jeans,  which  dis- 
played, besides  the  ornaments  of  patches,  sundry 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    173 

deep  grass  stains  about  the  knees.  Not  that 
piety  induced  Brice  to  spend  much  time  in  the 
lowly  attitude  of  prayer,  unless,  indeed,  Diana 
might  be  accounted  the  goddess  of  his  worship. 
The  green  juice  was  pressed  out  when  kneeling, 
hidden  in  some  leafy,  grassy  nook,  he  heard  the 
infrequent  cry  of  the  wild  turkey,  or  his  large, 
intent  blue  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  stately 
head  of  an  antlered  buck,  moving  majestically 
in  the  alternate  sheen  of  the  sunlight  and 
shadow  of  the  overhanging  crags  ;  or  while  with 
his  deft  hunter's  hands  he  dragged  himself  by 
slow,  noiseless  degrees  through  the  ferns  and 
tufts  of  rank  weeds  to  the  water's  edge,  that  he 
might  catch  a  shot  at  the  feeding  wild  duck.  A 
leather  belt  around  his  waist  supported  his 
powder-horn  and  shot-pouch,  —  for  his  accoutre- 
ments were  exactly  such  as  might  have  been 
borne  a  hundred  years  ago  by  a  hunter  of  Old 
Bear  Mountain,  —  and  his  gun  leaned  against 
the  trunk  of  a  chestnut-oak. 

Although  he  still  stood  outside  the  fence, 
aimlessly  lounging,  there  was  a  look  on  his  face 
of  a  half-suppressed  expectancy,  which  rendered 
the  features  less  statuesque  than  was  their  wont 
—  an  expectancy  that  showed  itself  in  the  fur- 
tive lifting  of  his  eyelids  now  and  then,  en- 
abling him  to  survey  the  doorway  without  turn- 
ing his  head.  Suddenly  his  face  reassumed  its 


174     The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

habitual,  inexpressive  mask  of  immobility,  and 
the  furtive  eyes  were  persistently  downcast. 

A  flare  of  color,  and  Cynthia  Hollis  was 
standing  in  the  doorway,  leaning  against  its 
frame.  She  was  robed,  like  September,  in 
brilliant  yellow.  The  material  and  make  were 
of  the  meanest,  but  there  was  a  certain  ap- 
propriateness in  the  color  with  her  slumberous 
dark  eyes  and  the  curling  tendrils  of  brown  hair 
which  fell  upon  her  forehead  and  were  clustered 
together  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  No  cuffs  and 
no  collar  could  this  costume  boast,  but  she  had 
shown  the  inclination  to  finery  characteristic  of 
her  age  and  sex  by  wearing  around  her  throat, 
where  the  yellow  hue  of  her  dress  met  the 
creamy  tint  of  her  skin,  a  row  of  large  black 
beads,  threaded  upon  a  shoe-string  in  default 
of  an  elastic,  the  brass  ends  flaunting  brazenly 
enough  among  them.  She  held  in  her  hand  a 
string  of  red  pepper,  to  which  she  was  adding 
some  newly  gathered  pods.  A  slow  job  Cynthia 
seemed  to  make  of  it. 

She  took  no  more  notice  of  the  man  under 
the  tree  than  he  accorded  to  her.  There  they 
stood,  within  twelve  feet  of  each  other,  in  utter 
silence,  and,  to  all  appearance,  each  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  other's  existence :  he  whit- 
tling his  pine  stick ;  she,  slowly,  slowly  stringing 
the  pods  of  red  pepper. 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    175 

There  was  something  almost  portentous  in  the 
gravity  and  sobriety  of  demeanor  of  this  girl  of 
seventeen ;  she  manifested  less  interest  in  the 
young  man  than  her  own  grandmother  might 
have  shown. 

He  was  constrained  to  speak  first.  "  Cyn- 
thy "  —  he  said  at  length,  without  raising  his 
eyes  or  turning  his  head.  She  did  not  answer ; 
but  he  knew  without  looking  that  she  had  fixed 
those  slumberous  brown  eyes  upon  him,  waiting 
for  him  to  go  on.  "Cynthy" —  he  said  again, 
with  a  hesitating,  uneasy  manner.  Then,  with 
an  awkward  attempt  at  raillery,  "Ain't  ye 
never  a-thinkin'  'bout  a-gittin'  married  ?  " 

He  cast  a  laughing  glance  toward  her,  and 
looked  down  quickly  at  his  clasp-knife  and  the 
stick  he  was  whittling.  It  was  growing  very 
slender  now. 

Cynthia's  serious  face  relaxed  its  gravity.  "  Ye 
air  foolish,  Jacob,"  she  said,  laughing.  After 
stringing  on  another  pepper-pod  with  great  de- 
liberation, she  continued  :  "  Ef  I  war  a-studyin' 
'bout  a-gittin'  married,  thar  ain't  nobody  round 
'bout  hyar  ez  I  'd  hev."  And  she  added  another 
pod  to  the  flaming  red  string,  so  bright  against 
the  yellow  of  her  dress. 

That  stick  could  not  long  escape  annihilation. 
The  clasp-knife  moved  vigorpusly  through  its 
fibres,  and  accented  certain  arbitrary  clauses  in 


176     The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

its  owner's  retort.  "  Ye  talk  like,"  he  said,  his 
face  as  monotonous  in  its  expression  as  if  every 
line  were  cut  in  marble  —  "  ye  talk  like  —  ye 
thought  ez  how  I  —  war  a-goin'  ter  ax  ye  —  ter 
marry  me.  I  ain't  though,  nuther." 

The  stick  was  a  shaving.  It  fell  among  the 
weeds.  The  young  hunter  shut  his  clasp-knife 
with  a  snap,  shouldered  his  gun,  and  without  a 
word  of  adieu  on  either  side  the  conference  ter- 
minated, and  he  walked  off  down  the  sandy 
road. 

Cynthia  stood  watching  him  until  the  laurel- 
bushes  hid  him  from  sight ;  then  sliding  from 
the  door-frame  to  the  step,  she  sat  motionless,  a 
bright-hued  mass  of  yellow  draperies  and  red 
peppers,  her  slumberous  deep  eyes  resting  on 
the  leaves  that  had  closed  upon  him. 

She  was  the  central  figure  of  a  still  landscape. 
The  mid-day  sunshine  fell  in  broad  effulgence 
upon  it ;  the  homely,  dun-colored  shadows  had 
been  running  away  all  the  morning,  as  if  shirk- 
ing the  contrast  with  the  splendors  of  the  golden 
light,  until  nothing  was  left  of  them  except  a 
dark  circle  beneath  the  wide-spreading  trees. 
No  breath  of  wind  stirred  the  leaves,  or  rippled 
the  surface  of  the  little  pond.  The  lethargy  of 
the  hour  had  descended  even  upon  the  towering 
pine-trees,  growing  on  the  precipitous  slope 
of  the  mountain,  and  showing  their  topmost 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    177 

plumes  just  above  the  frowning,  gray  crag  — 
their  melancholy  song  was  hushed.  The  silent 
masses  of  dazzling  white  clouds  were  poised 
motionless  in  the  ambient  air,  high  above  the 
valley  and  the  misty  expanse  of  the  distant, 
wooded  ranges. 

A  lazy,  lazy  day,  and  very,  very  warm.  The 
birds  had  much  ado  to  find  sheltering  shady 
nooks  where  they  might  escape  the  glare  and  the 
heat ;  their  gay  carols  were  out  of  season,  and 
they  blinked  and  nodded  under  their  leafy  um- 
brellas, and  fanned  themselves  with  their  wings, 
and  twittered  disapproval  of  the  weather.  "  Hot, 
hot,  red-hot !  "  said  the  birds  —  "  broiling  hot ! " 

Now  and  then  an  acorn  fell  from  among  the 
serrated  chestnut  leaves,  striking  upon  the  fence 
with  a  sounding  thwack,  and  rebounding  in  the 
weeds.  Those  chestnut-oaks  always  seem  to  un- 
accustomed eyes  the  creation  of  Nature  in  a  fit 
of  mental  aberration  —  useful  freak !  the  moun- 
tain swine  fatten  on  the  plenteous  mast,  and  the 
bark  is  highly  esteemed  at  the  tan-yard. 

A  large  cat  was  lying  at  full  length  on  the 
floor  of  the  little  porch,  watching  with  drowsy, 
half-closed  eyes  the  assembled  birds  in  the  tree. 
But  she  seemed  to  have  relinquished  the  plea- 
sures of  the  chase  until  the  mercury  should  fall. 

Close  in  to  the  muddiest  side  of  the  pond  over 
there,  which  was  all  silver  and  blue  with  the 


178     The,  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

reflection  of  the  great  masses  of  white  clouds, 
and  the  deep  azure  sky,  a  fleet  of  shining,  snowy 
geese  was  moored,  perfectly  motionless  too.  No 
circumnavigation  for  them  this  hot  day. 

And  Cynthia's  dark  brown  eyes,  fixed  upon 
the  leafy  vista  of  the  road,  were  as  slumberous 
as  the  noontide  sunshine. 

"  Cynthy  !  whar  is  the  gal  ?  "  said  poor  Mrs. 
Hollis,  as  she  came  around  the  house  to  hang  out 
the  ragged  clothes  on  the  althea-bushes  and  the 
rickety  fence.  "  Cynthy,  air  ye  a-goin'  ter  sit 
thar  in  the  door  all  day,  an'  that  thar  pot 
a-bilin'  all  the  stren'th  out  'n  that  thar  cabbige 
an'  roas'in'-ears  ?  Dish  up  dinner,  child,  an' 
don't  be  so  slow  an'  slack-twisted  like  yer  dad." 

Great  merriment  there  was,  to  be  sure,  at  the 
Kildeer  Fair  grounds,  situated  on  the  outskirts 
of  Colbury,  when  it  became  known  to  the  con- 
vulsed town  faction  that  the  gawky  Jenks  Hollis 
intended  to  compete  for  the  premium  to  be 
awarded  to  the  best  and  most  graceful  rider. 
The  contests  of  the  week  had  as  usual  resulted 
in  Colbury's  favor  ;  this  was  the  last  day  of 
the  fair,  and  the  defeated  country  population 
anxiously  but  still  hopefully  awaited  its  notable 
event. 

A  warm  sun  shone  ;  a  brisk  autumnal  breeze 
waved  the  flag  flying  from  the  judges'  stand ;  a 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    179 

brass  band  in  the  upper  story  of  that  structure 
thrilled  the  air  with  the  vibrations  of  popular 
waltzes  and  marches,  somewhat  marred  now  and 
then  by  mysteriously  discordant  bass  tones ;  the 
judges,  portly,  red-faced,  middle-aged  gentlemen, 
sat  below  in  cane-bottom  chairs  critically  a-tilt 
on  the  hind  legs.  The  rough  wooden  amphi- 
theatre, a  bold  satire  on  the  stately  Roman  edi- 
fice, was  filled  with  the  denizens  of  Colbury  and 
the  rosy  rural  faces  of  the  country  people  of 
Kildeer  County  ;  and  within  the  charmed  arena 
the  competitors  for  the  blue  ribbon  and  the  sad- 
dle and  bridle  to  be  awarded  to  the  best  rider 
were  just  now  entering,  ready  mounted,  from  a 
door  beneath  the  tiers  of  seats,  and  were  slowly 
making  the  tour  of  the  circle  around  the  judges' 
stand.  One  by  one  they  came,  with  a  certain 
nonchalant  pride  of  demeanor,  conscious  of  an 
effort  to  display  themselves  and  their  horses  to 
the  greatest  advantage,  and  yet  a  little  ashamed 
of  the  consciousness.  For  the  most  part  they 
were  young  men,  prosperous  looking,  and  clad 
according  to  the  requirements  of  fashion  which 
prevailed  in  this  little  town.  Shut  in  though 
it  was  from  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the 
world  by  the  encircling  chains  of  blue  ranges 
and  the  bending  sky  which  rested  upon  their 
summits,  the  frivolity  of  the  mode,  though  some- 
what belated,  found  its  way  and  ruled  with 


180     The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

imperative  rigor.  Good  riders  they  were  un- 
doubtedly, accustomed  to  the  saddle  almost  from 
infancy,  and  well  mounted.  A  certain  air  of 
gallantry,  always  characteristic  of  an  athletic 
horseman,  commended  these  equestrian  figures 
to  the  eye  as  they  slowly  circled  about.  Still 
they  came  —  eight  —  nine  —  ten  —  the  eleventh, 
the  long,  lank  frame  of  Jenkins  Hollis  mounted 
on  Squire  Goodlet's  "  John  Barleycorn." 

The  horsemen  received  this  ungainly  addition 
to  their  party  with  polite  composure,  and  the 
genteel  element  of  the  spectators  remained 
silent  too  from  the  force  of  good  breeding  and 
good  feeling ;  but  the  "  roughs,"  always  critically 
a-loose  in  a  crowd,  shouted  and  screamed  with 
derisive  hilarity.  What  they  were  laughing  at 
Jenks  Hollis  never  knew.  Grave  and  stolid, 
but  as  complacent  as  the  best,  he  too  made  the 
usual  circuit  with  his  ill-fitting  jeans  suit,  his 
slouching  old  wool  hat,  and  his  long,  gaunt  figure. 
But  tie  sat  the  spirited  "  John  Barleycorn  "  as 
if  he  were  a  part  of  the  steed,  and  held  up  his 
head  with  unwonted  dignity,  inspired  perhaps 
by  the  stately  attitudes  of  the  horse,  which  were 
the  result  of  no  training  nor  compelling  reins, 
but  the  instinct  transmitted  through  a  long  line 
of  high-headed  ancestry.  Of  a  fine  old  family 
was  "  John  Barleycorn." 

A  deeper  sensation  was  in  store  for  the  spec- 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    181 

tators.  Before  Jenkins  Hollis's  appearance  most 
of  them  had  heard  of  his  intention  to  compete, 
but  the  feeling  was  one  of  unmixed  astonishment 
when  entry  No.  12  rode  into  the  arena,  and,  on 
the  part  of  the  country  people,  this  surprise  was 
supplemented  by  an  intense  indignation.  The 
twelfth  man  was  Jacob  Brice.  As  he  was  a 
"  mounting  boy,"  one  would  imagine  that,  if  vic- 
tory should  crown  his  efforts,  the  rural  faction 
ought  to  feel  the  elation  of  success,  but  the  pre- 
vailing sentiment  toward  him  was  that  which 
every  well-conducted  mind  must  entertain  con- 
cerning the  individual  who  runs  against  the 
nominee.  Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  Brice 
was  a  notable  rider,  too,  and  well  calculated  to 
try  the  mettle  of  the  town's  champion,  there 
arose  from  the  excited  countrymen  a  keen,  bit- 
ter, and  outraged  cry  of  "  Take  him  out !  "  So 
strongly  does  the  partisan  heart  pulsate  to  the 
interests  of  the  nominee  !  This  frantic  petition 
had  no  effect  on  the  interloper.  A  man  who 
has  inherited  half  a  dozen  violent  quarrels,  any 
one  of  which  may  at  any  moment  burst  into  a 
vendetta,  —  inheriting  little  else,  —  is  not  easily 
dismayed  by  the  disapprobation  of  either  friend 
or  foe.  His  statuesque  features,  shaded  by  the 
drooping  brim  of  his  old  black  hat  were  as 
calm  as  ever,  and  his  slow  blue  eyes  did  not,  for 
one  moment,  rest  upon  the  excited  scene  about 


182    The  Blue  fiibbon  at  the  County  Pair. 

him,  so  unspeakably  new  to  his  scanty  experi- 
ence. His  fine  figure  showed  to  great  advantage 
on  horseback,  despite  his  uncouth,  coarse  garb ; 
he  was  mounted  upon  a  sturdy,  brown  mare 
of  obscure  origin,  but  good-looking,  clean-built, 
sure-footed,  and  with  the  blended  charm  of 
spirit  and  docility;  she  represented  his  whole 
estate,  except  his  gun  and  his  lean,  old  hound, 
that  had  accompanied  him  to  the  fair,  and  was 
even  now  improving  the  shining  hour  by  quar- 
reling over  a  bone  outside  the  grounds  with 
other  people's  handsomer  dogs. 

The  judges  were  exacting.  The  riders  were 
ordered  to  gallop  to  the  right  —  and  around 
they  went.  To  the  left  —  and  there  was  again 
the  spectacle  of  the  swiftly  circling  equestrian 
figures.  They  were  required  to  draw  up  in  a 
line,  and  to  dismount ;  then  to  mount,  and  again 
to  alight.  Those  whom  these  nianreuvres  proved 
inferior  were  dismissed  at  once,  and  the  circle 
was  reduced  to  eight.  An  exchange  of  horses 
was  commanded  ;  and  once  more  the  riding,  fast 
and  slow,  left  and  right,  the  mounting  and  dis- 
mounting were  repeated.  The  proficiency  of  the 
remaining  candidates  rendered  them  worthy  of 
more  difficult  ordeals.  They  were  required  to 
snatch  a  hat  from  the  ground  while  riding  at 
full  gallop.  Pistols  loaded  with  blank  cartridges 
were  fired  behind  the  horses,  and  subsequently 


The,  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    183 

close  to  their  quivering  and  snorting  nostrils,  in 
order  that  the  relative  capacity  of  the  riders  to 
manage  a  frightened  and  unruly  steed  might  be 
compared,  and  the  criticism  of  the  judges  mowed 
the  number  down  to  four. 

Free  speech  is  conceded  by  all  right-thinking 
people  to  be  a  blessing.  It  is  often  a  balm. 
Outside  of  the  building  and  of  earshot  the  de- 
feated aspirants  took  what  comfort  they  could 
in  consigning,  with  great  fervor  and  volubility, 
all  the  judicial  magnates  to  that  torrid  region 
unknown  to  polite  geographical  works. 

Of  the  four  horsemen  remaining  in  the  ring, 
two  were  Jenkins  Hollis  and  Jacob  Brice.  Short 
turns  at  full  gallop  were  prescribed.  The  horses 
were  required  to  go  backward  at  various  gaits. 
Bars  were  brought  in  and  the  crowd  enjoyed 
the  exhibition  of  the  standing-leap,  at  an  ever- 
increasing  height  and  then  the  flying-leap  —  a 
tumultuous  confused  impression  of  thundering 
hoofs  and  tossing  mane  and  grim  defiant  faces  of 
horse  and  rider,  in  the  lightning-like  moment  of 
passing.  Obstructions  were  piled  on  the  track 
for  the  "  long  jumps,"  and  in  one  of  the  wildest 
leaps  a  good  rider  was  unhorsed  and  rolled  on 
the  ground  while  his  recreant  steed  that  had 
balked  at  the  last  moment  scampered  around 
and  around  the  arena  in  a  wild  effort  to  ;find  the 
door  beneath  the  tiers  of  seats  to  escape  so 


184    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

fierce  a  competition.  This  accident  reduced  the 
number  of.  candidates  to  the  two  mountaineers 
and  Tip  Hackett,  the  man  whom  Jacob  had  pro- 
nounced a  formidable  rival.  The  circling  about, 
the  mounting  and  dismounting,  the  exchange 
of  horses  were  several  times  repeated  without 
any  apparent  result,  and  excitement  rose  to 
fever  heat. 

The  premium  and  certificate  lay  between  the 
three  men.  The  town  faction  trembled  at  the 
thought  that  the  substantial  award  of  the  saddle 
and  bridle,  with  the  decoration  of  the  blue  rib- 
bon, and  the  intangible  but  still  precious  second- 
ary glory  of  the  certificate  and  the  red  ribbon 
might  be  given  to  the  two  mountaineers,  leaving 
the  crack  rider  of  Colbury  in  an  ignominious 
lurch ;  while  the  country  party  feared  Hollis's 
defeat  by  Hackett  rather  less  than  that  Jenks 
would  be  required  to  relinquish  the  premium  to 
the  interloper  Brice,  for  the  young  hunter's  rid- 
ing had  stricken  a  pang  of  prophetic  terror  to 
more  than  one  partisan  rustic's  heart.  In  the 
midst  of  the  perplexing  doubt,  which  tried  the 
judges'  minds,  came  the  hour  for  dinner,  and 
the  decision  was  postponed  until  after  that  meal. 

The  competitors  left  the  arena,  and  the  spec- 
tators transferred  their  attention  to  unburdening 

O 

hampers,  or  to  jostling  one  another  in  the  dining- 
hall. 


The  Blue  JKibbon  at  the  County  Fair.    185 

Everybody  was  feasting  but  Cynthia  Hollis. 
The  intense  excitement  of  the  day,  the  novel 
sights  and  sounds  utterly  undreamed  of  in  her 
former  life,  the  abruptly  struck  chords  of  new 
emotions  suddenly  set  vibrating  within  her,  had 
dulled  her  relish  for  the  midday  meal ;  and 
while  the  other  members  of  the  family  repaired 
to  the  shade  of  a  tree  outside  the  grounds  to  en- 
joy that  refection,  she  wandered  about  the  "  floral 
hall,"  gazing  at  the  splendors  of  bloom  throng- 
ing there,  all  so  different  from  the  shy  grace, 
the  fragility  of  poise,  the  delicacy  of  texture 
of  the  flowers  of  her  ken, — the  rhododendron, 
the  azalea,  the  Chilhowee  lily,  —  yet  vastly  im- 
posing in  their  massed  exuberance  and  scar- 
let pride,  for  somehow  they  all  seemed  high 
colored. 

She  went  more  than  once  to  note  with  a  kind 
of  aghast  dismay  those  trophies  of  feminine 
industry,  the  quilts  ;  some  were  of  the  "  log 
cabin  "  and  "  rising  sun "  variety,  but  others 
were  of  geometric  intricacy  of  form  and  were 
kaleidoscopic  of  color  with  an  amazing  laby- 
rinth of  stitchings  and  embroideries  —  it  seemed 
a  species  of  effrontery  to  dub  one  gorgeous  poly- 
tinted  silken  banner  a  quilt.  But  already  it  bore 
a  blue  ribbon,  and  its  owner  was  the  richer  by 
the  prize  of  a  glass  bowl  and  the  envy  of  a  score 
of  deft-handed  competitors.  She  gazed  upon  the 


186    The  Blue  JRilbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

glittering  jellies  and  preserves,  upon  the  biscuits 
and  cheeses,  the  hair-work  and  wax  flowers,  and 
paintings.  These  latter  treated  for  the  most 
part  of  castles  and  seas  rather  than  of  the  sur- 
rounding altitudes,  but  Cynthia  came  to  a  pause 
of  blank  surprise  in  front  of  a  shadow  rather 
than  a  picture  which  represented  a  spring  of 
still  brown  water  in  a  mossy  cleft  of  a  rock 
where  the  fronds  of  a  fern  seemed  to  stir  in  the 
foreground.  "  I  hev  viewed  the  like  o'  that  a 
many  a  time,"  she  said  disparagingly.  To  her 
it  hardly  seemed  rare  enough  for  the  blue  rib- 
bon on  the  frame. 

In  the  next  room  she  dawdled  through  great 
piles  of  prize  fruits  and  vegetables  —  water-mel- 
ons unduly  vast  of  bulk,  peaches  and  pears  and 
pumpkins  of  proportions  never  seen  before  out 
of  a  nightmare,  stalks  of  Indian  corn  eighteen 
feet  high  with  seven  ears  each,  —  all  apparently 
attesting  what  they  could  do  when  they  would, 
and  that  all  the  enterprise  of  Kildeer  County 
was  not  exclusively  of  the  feminine  persuasion. 

Finally  Cynthia  came  out  from  the  midst  of 
them  and  stood  leaning  against  one  of  the  large 
pillars  which  supported  the  roof  of  the  amphi- 
theatre, still  gazing  about  the  half -deserted  build- 
ing, with  the  smouldering  fires  of  her  slumber- 
ous eyes  newly  kindled. 

To  other  eyes   and  ears  it  might  not   have 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    187 

seemed  a  scene  of  tumultuous  metropolitan  life, 
with  the  murmuring  trees  close  at  hand  dappling 
the  floor  with  sycamore  shadows,  the  fields  of 
Indian  corn  across  the  road,  the  exuberant  rush 
of  the  stream  down  the  slope  just  beyond,  the 
few  hundred  spectators  who  had  intently  watched 
the  events  of  the  day ;  but  to  Cynthia  Hollis  the 
excitement  of  the  crowd  and  movement  and  noise 
could  no  further  go. 

By  the  natural  force  of  gravitation  Jacob 
Brice  presently  was  walking  slowly  and  appar- 
ently aimlessly  around  to  where  she  was  stand- 
ing. He  said  nothing,  however,  when  he  was 
beside  her,  and  she  seemed  entirely  unconscious 
of  his  presence.  Her  yellow  dress  was  as  stiff 
as  a  board,  and  as  clean  as  her  strong,  young 
arms  could  make  it;  at  her  throat  were  the 
shining  black  beads ;  on  her  head  she  wore  a 
limp,  yellow  calico  sunbonnet,  which  hung  down 
over  her  eyes,  and  almost  obscured  her  counte- 
nance. To  this  article  she  perhaps  owed  the 
singular  purity  and  transparency  of  her  com- 
plexion, as  much  as  to  the  mountain  air,  and 
the  chiefly  vegetable  fare  of  her  father's  table. 
She  wore  it  constantly,  although  it  operated  al- 
most as  a  mask,  rendering  her  more  easily  recog- 
nizable to  their  few  neighbors  by  her  flaring 
attire  than  by  her  features,  and  obstructing 
from  her  own  view  all  surrounding  scenery,  so 


188    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

that  she  could  hardly  see  the  cow,  which  so 
much  of  her  time  she  was  slowly  poking  after. 

She  spoke  unexpectedly,  and  without  any 
other  symptom  that  she  knew  of  the  young 
hunter's  proximity.  "  I  never  thought,  Jacob, 
ez  how  ye  would  hev  come  down  hyar,  all  the 
way  from  the  mountings,  to  ride  agin  my  dad, 
an'  beat  him  out'n  that  thar  saddle  an'  bridle." 

"  Ye  won't  hev  nothin'  ter  say  ter  me,"  re- 
torted Jacob  sourly. 

A  long  silence  ensued. 

Then  he  resumed  didactically,  but  with  some 
irrelevancy,  "I  tole  ye  t'other  day  ez  how  ye 
war  old  enough  ter  be  a-studyin'  'bout  gittin' 
married." 

"  They  don't  think  nothin'  of  ye  ter  our 
house,  Jacob.  Dad  's  always  a-jowin'  at  ye." 
Cynthia's  candor  certainly  could  not  be  called 
in  question. 

The  young  hunter  replied  with  some  natural 
irritation  :  "  He  hed  better  not  let  me  hear  him, 
ef  he  wants  to  keep  whole  bones  inside  his  skin. 
He  better  not  tell  me,  nuther." 

"He  don't  keer  enough  'bout  ye,  Jacob,  ter 
tell  ye.  He  don't  think  nothin'  of  ye." 

Love  is  popularly  supposed  to  dull  the  men- 
tal faculties.  It  developed  in  Jacob  Brice  sud- 
den strategic  abilities. 

"  Thar  is  them  ez  does,"  he  said  diplomati- 
cally. 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    189 

Cynthia  spoke  promptly  with  more  vivacity 
than  usual,  but  in  her  customary  drawl  and 
apparently  utterly  irrelevantly  :  — 

"  I  never  in  all  my  days  see  no  sech  red-headed 
gal  ez  that  thar  Becky  Stiles.  She  's  the  red- 
headedest  gal  ever  I  see."  And  Cynthia  once 
more  was  silent. 

Jacob  resumed,  also  irrelevantly :  — 

"  When  I  goes  a-huntin'  up  yander  ter  Pine 
Lick,  they  is  mighty  perlite  ter  me.  They  ain't 
never  done  nothin'  agin  me,  ez  I  knows  on." 
Then,  after  a  pause  of  deep  cogitation,  he  added, 
"  Nor  hev  they  said  nothin'  agin  me,  nuther." 

Cynthia  took  up  her  side  of  the  dialogue,  if 
dialogue  it  could  be  called,  with  wonted  irrele- 
vancy :  "  That  thar  Becky  Stiles,  she 's  got  the 
freckledest  face  —  ez  freckled  ez  any  turkey- 
aig  "  (with  an  indescribable  drawl  on  the  last 
word). 

"  They  ain't  done  nothin'  agin  me,"  reiter- 
ated Jacob  astutely,  "nor  said  nothin'  nuther 
—  none  of  'em." 

Cynthia  looked  hard  across  the  amphitheatre 
at  the  distant  Great  Smoky  Mountains  shimmer- 
ing in  the  hazy  September  sunlight  —  so  ineffa- 
bly beautiful,  so  delicately  blue,  that  they  might 
have  seemed  the  ideal  scenery  of  some  impossi- 
bly lovely  ideal  world.  Perhaps  she  was  won- 
dering what  the  unconscious  Becky  Stiles,  far 


190    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

away  in  those  dark  woods  about  Pine  Lick,  had 
secured  in  this  life  besides  her  freckled  face. 
Was  this  the  sylvan  deity  of  the  young  hunter's 
adoration  ? 

Cynthia  took  off  her  sunbonnet  to  use  it  for 
a  fan.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  her  that  she  did 
so  at  this  moment ;  it  had  so  entirely  concealed 
her  head  that  her  hair  might  have  been  the  color 
of  Becky  Stiles's,  and  no  one  the  wiser.  The 
dark  brown  tendrils  curled  delicately  on  her 
creamy  forehead  ;  the  excitement  of  the  day  had 
flushed  her  pale  cheeks  with  an  unwonted  glow ; 
her  eyes  were  alight  with  their  newly  kindled 
fires ;  the  clinging  curtain  of  her  bonnet  had 
concealed  the  sloping  curves  of  her  shoulders  — 
altogether  she  was  attractive  enough,  despite  the 
flare  of  her  yellow  dress,  and  especially  attrac- 
tive to  the  untutored  eyes  of  Jacob  Brice.  He 
relented  suddenly,  and  lost  all  the  advantages  of 
his  tact  and  diplomacy. 

"  I  likes  ye  better  nor  I  does  Becky  Stiles," 
he  said  moderately.  Then  with  more  fervor,  "I 
likes  ye  better  nor  any  gal  I  ever  see." 

The  usual  long  pause  ensued. 

"  Ye  hev  got  a  mighty  cur'ous  way  o'  showin' 
it,"  Cynthia  replied. 

"  I  dunno  what  ye  're  talkin'  'bout,  Cynthy." 

"  Ye  hev  got  a  mighty  cur'ous  way  o'  showin' 
it,"  she  reiterated,  with  renewed  animation  — 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    191 

"a-comin'  all  the  way  down  hyar  from  the 
mountings  ter  beat  my  dad  out'n  that  thar  sad- 
dle an'  bridle,  what  he  's  done  sot  his  heart  onto. 
Mighty  cur'ous  way." 

"Look  hyar,  Cynthy."  The  young  hunter 
broke  off  suddenly,  and  did  not  speak  again  for 
several  minutes.  A  great  perplexity  was  surging 
this  way  and  that  in  his  slow  brains  —  a  great 
struggle  was  waging  in  his  heart.  He  was  to 
choose  between  love  and  ambition  —  nay,  avarice 
too  was  ranged  beside  his  aspiration.  He  felt 
himself  an  assured  victor  in  the  competition,  and 
he  had  seen  that  saddle  and  bridle.  They  were 
on  exhibition  to-day,  and  to  him  their  material 
and  workmanship  seemed  beyond  expression 
wonderful,  and  elegant,  and  substantial.  He 
could  never  hope  otherwise  to  own  such  accou- 
trements. His  eyes  would  never  again  even 
rest  upon  such  resplendent  objects,  unless  in- 
deed in  Hollis's  possession.  Any  one  who  has 
ever  loved  a  horse  can  appreciate  a  horseman's 
dear  desire  that  beauty  should  go  beautifully 
caparisoned.  And  then,  there  was  his  pride  in 
his  own  riding,  and  his  anxiety  to  have  his  pre- 
eminence in  that  accomplishment  acknowledged 
and  recognized  by  his  friends,  and,  dearer  tri- 
umph still,  by  his  enemies.  A  terrible  pang 
before  he  spoke  again. 

"  Look  hyar,  Cynthy,"  he  said  at  last ;  "  ef 


192    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

ye  will  naarry  me,  I  won't  go  back  in  yander 
no  more.  I  '11  leave  the  premi-zm  ter  them  ez 
kin  git  it." 

"  Ye  're  foolish,  Jacob,"  she  replied,  still  fan- 
ning with  the  yellow  calico  sunbonnet.  "  Ain't 
I  done  tole  ye,  ez  how  they  don't  think  nothin' 
of  ye  ter  our  house  ?  I  don't  want  all  of  'em 
a-jowin'  at  me,  too." 

"  Ye  talk  like  ye  ain't  got  good  sense,  Cyn- 
thy,"  said  Jacob  irritably.  "What's  ter  hen- 
der  me  from  hitchin'  up  my  mare  ter  my  uncle's 
wagon  an'  ye  an'  me  a-drivin'  up  hyar  to  the 
Cross-Roads,  fifteen  mile,  and  git  Pa'son  Jones 
ter  marry  us  ?  We  '11  get  the  license  down  hyar 
ter  the  Court  House  afore  we  start.  An'  while 
they  '11  all  be  a-foolin'  away  thar  time  a-ridin' 
round  that  thar  ring,  ye  an'  me  will  be  a-gittin' 
married."  Ten  minutes  ago  Jacob  Brice  did 
not  think  riding  around  that  ring  was  such  a 
reprehensible  waste  of  time.  "  What 's  ter 
hender?  It  don't  make  no  differ  how  they  jow 
then." 

"  I  done  tole  ye,  Jacob,"  said  the  sedate  Cyn- 
thia, still  fanning  with  the  sunbonnet. 

With  a  sudden  return  of  his  inspiration,  Jacob 
retorted,  affecting  an  air  of  stolid  indifference : 
"  Jes'  ez  ye  choose.  I  won't  hev  ter  ax  Becky 
Stiles  twict." 

And  he  turned  to  go. 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    193 

"  I  never  said  no,  Jacob,"  said  Cynthia  pre- 
cipitately. "  I  never  said  ez  how  I  would  n't 
hev  ye." 

"  Waal,  then,  jes'  come  along  with  me  right 
now  while  I  hitch  up  the  mare.  I  ain't  a-goin' 
ter  leave  yer  a-standin'  hyar.  Ye  're  too  skit- 
tish. Time  I  come  back  ye  'd  hev  done  run 
away  I  dunno  whar."  A  moment's  pause  and 
he  added :  "  Is  ye  a-goin'  ter  stand  thar  all  day, 
Cynthy  Hollis,  a-lookin'  up  an'  around,  and 
a-turnin'  yer  neck  fust  this  way  and  then  t'other, 
an'  a-lookin'  fur  all  the  worl'  like  a  wild  turkey 
in  a  trap,  or  one  o'  them  thar  skeery  young  deer, 
or  sech  senseless  critters?  What  ails  the  gal?" 

"  Thar  '11  be  nobody  ter  help  along  the  work 
ter  our  house,"  said  Cynthia,  the  weight  of  the 
home  difficulties  bearing  heavily  on  her  con- 
science. 

"  What 's  ter  hender  ye  from  a-goin'  down  thar 
an'  lendin'  a  hand  every  wunst  in  a  while  ?  But 
ef  ye  're  a-goin'  ter  stand  thar  like  ye  hed  n't 
no  more  action  than  a  —  a-dunno-what,  —  jes' 
like  yer  dad,  I  ain't.  I  '11  jes'  leave  ye  a-growed 
ter  that  thar  post,  an'  I  '11  jes'  light  out  stiddier, 
an'  afore  the  cows  git  ter  Pine  Lick,  I  '11  be 
thar  too.  Jes'  ez  ye  choose.  Come  along  ef 
ye  wants  ter  come.  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  ax  ye  no 
more." 

"  I  'm  a-comin',"  said  Cynthia. 


194    The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

There  was  great  though  illogical  rejoicing  on 
the  part  of  the  country  faction  when  the  crowds 
were  again  seated,  tier  above  tier,  in  the  amphi- 
theatre, and  the  riders  were  once  more  sum- 
moned into  the  arena,  to  discover  from  Jacob 
Brice's  unaccounted-for  absence  that  he  had 
withdrawn  and  left  the  nominee  to  his  chances. 

In  the  ensuing  competition  it  became  very  evi- 
dent to  the  not  altogether  impartially  disposed 
judges  that  they  could  not,  without  incurring 
the  suspicions  alike  of  friend  and  foe,  award  the 
premium  to  their  fellow-townsman.  Straight  as 
a  shingle  though  he  might  be,  more  prepossess- 
ing to  the  eye,  the  ex-cavalryman  of  fifty  battles 
was  far  better  trained  in  all  the  arts  of  horse- 
manship. 

A  wild  shout  of  joy  burst  from  the  rural 
party  when  the  most  portly  and  rubicund  of 
the  portly  and  red-faced  judges  advanced  into 
the  ring  and  decorated  Jenkins  Hollis  with  the 
blue  ribbon.  A  frantic  antistrophe  rent  the  air. 
"  Take  it  off !  "  vociferated  the  bitter  town  fac- 
tion —  "  take  it  off  I" 

A  diversion  was  produced  by  the  refusal  of 
the  Colbury  champion  to  receive  the  empty  honor 
of  the  red  ribbon  and  the  certificate.  Thus  did 
he  except  to  the  ruling  of  the  judges.  In  high 
dudgeon  he  faced  about  and  left  the  arena,  fol- 
lowed shortly  by  the  decorated  Jenks,  bearing 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    195 

the  precious  saddle  and  bridle,  and  going  with  a 
wooden  face  to  receive  the  congratulations  of  his 
friends. 

The  entries  for  the  slow  mule  race  had  been 
withdrawn  at  the  last  moment ;  and  the  specta- 
tors, balked  of  that  unique  sport,  and  the  fair 
being  virtually  over,  were  rising  from  their  seats 
and  making  their  noisy  preparations  for  depar- 
ture. Before  Jenks  had  cleared  the  fair-build- 
ing, being  somewhat  impeded  by  the  moving 
mass  of  humanity,  he  encountered  one  of  his 
neighbors,  a  listless  mountaineer,  who  spoke  on 
this  wise :  — 

"  Does  ye  know  that  thar  gal  o'  yourn  —  that 
thar  Cynthy  ?  " 

Mr.  Hollis  nodded  his  expressionless  head  — 
presumably  he  did  know  Cynthia. 

"  Waal,"  continued  his  leisurely  interlocutor, 
still  interrogative,  "  does  ye  know  Jacob  Brice  ?  " 

Ill-starred  association  of  ideas  !  There  was  a 
look  of  apprehension  on  Jenkins  Hollis's  wooden 
face. 

"  They  hev  done  got  a  license  down  hyar  ter 
the  Court  House  an'  gone  a-kitin'  out  on  the  Old 
B'ar  road." 

This  was  explicit. 

"  Whar  's  my  horse  ?  "  exclaimed  Jenks,  ap- 
propriating "John  Barleycorn"  in  his  haste. 
Great  as  was  his  hurry,  it  was  not  too  impera- 


196    The,  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

tive  to  prevent  him  from  strapping  upon  the 
horse  the  premium  saddle,  and  inserting  in  his 
mouth  the  new  bit  and  bridle.  And  in  less  than 
ten  minutes  a  goodly  number  of  recruits  from 
the  crowd  assembled  in  Colbury  were  also 
"  a-kitin' "  out  on  the  road  to  Old  Bear,  delighted 
with  a  new  excitement,  and  bent  on  running 
down  the  eloping  couple  with  no  more  appre- 
ciation of  the  sentimental  phase  of  the  question 
and  the  tender  illusions  of  love's  young  dream 
than  if  Jacob  and  Cynthia  were  two  mountain 
foxes. 

Down  the  red-clay  slopes  of  the  outskirts  of 
the  town  "  John  Barleycorn "  thunders  with  a 
tram  of  horsemen  at  his  heels.  Splash  into  the 
clear  fair  stream  whose  translucent  depths  tell 
of  its  birthplace  among  the  mountain  springs  — 
how  the  silver  spray  showers  about  as  the  pur- 
suers surge  through  the  ford  leaving  behind 
them  a  foamy  wake  !  —  and  now  they  are  press- 
ing hard  up  the  steep  ascent  of  the  opposite  bank, 
and  galloping  furiously  along  a  level  stretch  of 
road,  with  the  fences  and  trees  whirling  by,  and 
the  September  landscape  flying  on  the  wings  of 
the  wind.  The  chase  leads  past  fields  of  tasseled 
Indian  corn,  with  yellowing  thickly  swathed  ears, 
leaning  heavily  from  the  stalk ;  past  wheat-lands, 
the  crops  harvested  and  the  crab-grass  having  its 
day  at  last ;  past  "  woods-lots  "  and  their  black 


The  Blue  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair.    197 

shadows,  and  out  again  into  the  September  sun- 
shine ;  past  rickety  little  homes,  not  unlike  Hol- 
lis's  own,  with  tow-headed  children,  exactly  like 
his,  standing  with  wide  eyes,  looking  at  the  rush 
and  hurry  of  the  pursuit  —  sometimes  in  the  ill- 
kept  yards  a  wood-fire  is  burning  under  the  boil- 
ing sorghum  kettle,  or  beneath  the  branches  of 
the  orchard  near  at  hand  a  cider-mill  is  crush- 
ing the  juice  out  of  the  red  and  yellow,  ripe  and 
luscious  apples.  Homeward-bound  prize  cattle 
are  overtaken  —  a  Durham  bull,  reluctantly  per- 
mitting himself  to  be  led  into  a  fence  corner  that 
the  hunt  may  sweep  by  unobstructed,  and  turn- 
ing his  proud  blue-ribboned  head  angrily  toward 
the  riders  as  if  indignant  that  anything  except 
him  should  absorb  attention ;  a  gallant  horse, 
with  another  floating  blue  streamer,  bearing  him- 
self as  becometh  a  king's  son ;  the  chase  comes 
near  to  crushing  sundry  grunting  porkers  imper- 
vious to  pride  and  glory  in  any  worldly  distinc- 
tions of  cerulean  decorations,  and  at  last  is  fain 
to  draw  up  and  wait  until  a  flock  of  silly  over- 
dressed sheep,  running  in  frantic  fear  every  way 
but  the  right  way,  can  be  gathered  together  and 
guided  to  a  place  of  safety. 

And  once  more,  forward  ;  past  white  frame 
houses  with  porches,  and  vine-grown  verandas, 
and  well-tended  gardens,  and  groves  of  oak  and 
beech  and  hickory  trees  —  "  John  Barleycorn  " 


198    The  Blue,  Ribbon  at  the  County  Fair. 

makes  an  ineffectual  but  gallant  struggle  to  get 
in  at  the  large  white  gate  of  one  of  these  com- 
fortable places,  Squire  Goodlet's  home,  but  he  is 
urged  back  into  the  road,  and  again  the  pursuit 
sweeps  on.  Those  blue  mountains,  the  long  par- 
allel ranges  of  Old  Bear  and  his  brothers,  seem 
no  more  a  misty,  uncertain  mirage  against  the  de- 
licious indefinable  tints  of  the  horizon.  Sharply 
outlined  they  are  now,  with  dark,  irregular  shad- 
ows upon  their  precipitous  slopes  which  tell  of 
wild  ravines,  and  rock-lined  gorges,  and  swirl- 
ing mountain  torrents,  and  great,  beetling,  gray 
crags.  A  breath  of  balsams  comes  on  the  fresh- 
ening wind  —  the  lungs  expand  to  meet  it.  There 
is  a  new  aspect  in  the  scene  ;  a  revivifying  cur- 
rent thrills  through  the  blood  ;  a  sudden  ideal 
beauty  descends  on  prosaic  creation. 

"  'Pears  like  I  can't  git  my  breath  good  in 
them  flat  countries,"  says  Jenkins  Hollis  to  him- 
self, as  "  John  Barleycorn  "  improves  his  speed 
under  the  exhilarating  influence  of  the  wind. 
"I'm  nigh  on  to  sifflicated  every  time  I  goes 
down  yander  ter  Colbury  "  (with  a  jerk  of  his 
wooden  head  in  the  direction  of  the  village). 

Long  stretches  of  woods  are  on  either  side  of 
the  road  now,  with  no  sign  of  the  changing  sea- 
son in  the  foliage  save  the  slender,  pointed,  scar- 
let leaves  and  creamy  plumes  of  the  sourwood, 
gleaming  here  and  there  ;  and  presently  another 


The,  Blue  JRibbon  at  the  County  fair.    199 

panorama  of  open  country  unrolls  to  the  view. 
Two  or  three  frame  houses  appear  with  gardens 
and  orchards,  a  number  of  humble  log  cabins, 
and  a  dingy  little  store,  and  the  Cross-Roads  are 
reached.  And  here  the  conclusive  intelligence 
meets  the  party  that  Jacob  and  Cynthia  were 
married  by  Parson  Jones  an  hour  ago,  and  were 
still  "  a-kitin',"  at  last  accounts,  out  on  the  road 
to  Old  Bear. 

The  pursuit  stayed  its  ardor.  On  the  auspi- 
cious day  when  Jenkins  Hollis  took  the  blue  rib- 
bon at  the  County  Fair  and  won  the  saddle  and 
bridle  he  lost  his  daughter. 

They  saw  Cynthia  no  more  until  late  in  the 
autumn  when  she  came,  without  a  word  of  self- 
justification  or  apology  for  her  conduct,  to  lend 
her  mother  a  helping  hand  in  spinning  and  weav- 
ing her  little  brothers'  and  sisters'  clothes.  And 
gradually  the  eclat  attendant  upon  her  nuptials 
was  forgotten,  except  that  Mrs.  Hollis  now  and 
then  remarks  that  she  "  dunno  how  we  could 
hev  bore  up  agin  Cynthy's  a-runnin'  away  like 
she  done,  ef  it  hed  n't  a-been  fur  that  thar  saddle 
an'  bridle  an'  takin'  the  blue  ribbon  at  the 
County  Fair." 


THE  CASTING  VOTE. 
I. 

AN  election  of  civil  and  judicial  officers  was 
impending  in  Kildeer  County  when  a  comet 
appeared  in  the  July  sky,  a  mysterious,  aloof, 
uncanny  presence,  that  invaded  the  night  and 
the  stereotyped  routine  of  nature  with  that  grue- 
some effect  of  the  phenomenal  which  gives  to  the 
mind  so  definite  a  realization  of  how  dear  and 
secure  is  the  prosaic  sense  of  custom. 

All  the  lenses  of  the  great  observatories  of 
the  world  had,  in  a  manner,  sought  to  entertain 
the  strange  visitant  of  the  heavens.  The  learned 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  claim  its  acquaintance,  to 
recognize  it  as  the  returning  comet  of  a  date 
long  gone  by.  It  even  carried  amidst  its  shin- 
ing glories,  along  the  far  unimagined  ways  of 
its  orbit,  the  name  of  a  human  being  —  of  the 
man  who  had  discovered  it  on  its  former  visit, 
for  thus  splendidly  does  astronomy  honor  its  vo- 
taries. Less  scientific  people  regarded  it  askance 
as  in  some  sort  harbinger  of  woe,  and  spoke  of 
presage,  recalling  other  comets,  and  the  com- 
motions that  came  in  their  train  —  from  the 


The  Casting  Vote.  201 

Deluge,  with  the  traditional  cornetary  influences 
rife  in  the  breaking  up  of  "  the  fountains  of  the 
great  deep,"  to  the  victories  of  Mohammed  II. 
and  the  threatened  overthrow  of  Christendom, 
and  even  down  to  our  own  war  of  1812.  Oth- 
ers, again,  scorned  superstition,  and  entertained 
merely  practical  misgivings  concerning  the 
weight,  density,  and  temperature  of  the  comet, 
lest  the  eccentric  aerial  wanderer  should  run 
amuck  of  the  earth  hi  some  confusion  touching 
the  right  of  way  through  space. 

Meanwhile,  it  grew  from  the  semblance  of  a 
vaporous  tissue  —  an  illuminated  haze  only  dis- 
cernible through  the  telescope,  the  private  view 
of  the  favored  few  —  till  it  gradually  became 
visible  to  the  unassisted  eye  of  the  profanum 
vulgus,  and  finally  it  flamed  across  the  darkling 
spaces  with  its  white  crown  of  glory,  its  splendid 
wing-like  train,  and  its  effect  of  motion  as  of  a 
wondrous  flight  among  the  stars  —  and  all  the 
world,  and,  for  aught  we  know,  many  worlds, 
gazed  at  it. 

Only  in  some  great  desert,  the  vast  stretches 
of  unsailed  seas,  or  the  depths  of  uninhabited 
forests,  were  its  supernal  splendors  unnoted.  It 
sunk  as  wistful,  as  tremulous,  a  reflection  in  a 
lonely  pool  in  the  dense  mountain  wilds  as  any 
simple  star,  a  familiar  of  these  haunts,  that  had 
looked  down  to  mark  its  responsive  image  year 


202  The  Casting  Vote. 

after  year,  for  countless  ages,  whenever  the  sea- 
son brought  it,  in  its  place  in  the  glittering  mail 
of  the  Archer,  or  among  the  jewels  of  the 
Northern  Crown,  once  more  to  the  spot  it  had 
known  and  its  tryst  with  its  fair  semblance  in 
the  water. 

The  great  silver  flake  which  the  comet  struck 
out  upon  the  serene  surface  lay  glinting  there 
among  the  lesser  stellar  reflections,  when  a  man, 
kneeling  in  a  gully  of  the  steep  bank  sloping 
to  the  "salt  lick,"  leaned  forward  suddenly  to 
gaze  at  it ;  then,  with  a  gasp,  turned  his  eyes 
upward  to  that  flaming  blade  drawn  athwart  the 
peaceful  sky.  He  did  not  utter  a  sound.  The 
habit  of  silence  essential  to  the  deer-hunter  kept 
its  mechanical  hold  upon  his  nerves.  Only  the 
hand  with  which  he  grasped  the  half-exposed 
roots  of  a  great  sycamore-tree,  denuded  in  some 
partial  caving  of  the  bank  long  ago,  relaxed  and 
trembled  slightly. 

He  was  a  man  of  scant  and  narrow  experi- 
ence, his  world  the  impenetrable  mountain  wil- 
derness, and,  though  seemingly  the  pupil  of 
nature,  versed  in  the  ways  of  beast  and  bird,  the 
signs  of  the  clouds,  the  seasons  of  bourgeoning 
and  burr,  it  was  but  of  casual  external  aspects. 
He  knew  naught  of  its  wondrous  history,  its 
subtler  significance,  its  strange  record  —  the 
flood-tides  registered  on  that  cliff  beyond  the 


The  Casting  Vote.  203 

laurel ;  the  reptilian  trail  in  the  ledge  beneath 
the  butt  of  his  rifle,  the  imprint  still  fast  in  the 
solid  rock,  albeit  the  species  extinct ;  the  great 
bones  of  ancient  unknown  beasts  sunk  in  the 
depressions  of  this  saline  quagmire,  which  herds 
of  them  had  once  frequented  for  the  salt,  as  did 
of  late  the  buffalo,  and  now  the  timorous  deer, 
wont  to  come,  like  shadows  wavering  in  the  wind, 
to  lick  the  briny  earth.  The  strange,  glinting 
blade  overhead  had  no  claim  on  his  recognition 
as  the  "comet  of  Aristotle,"  or  the  "evil-disposed 
comet "  personified  by  the  Italians  as  Sir  Great- 
Lance,  il  Signor  Astone,  or  Halley's  comet,  or 
Donati's.  Self  is  the  centre  of  the  solar  system 
with  many  souls,  and  around  this  point  do  all 
its  incidents  revolve.  For  him  that  wondrous 
white  fire  was  kindled  in  the  skies,  for  Am,  in 
special  relation  to  his  small  life,  to  the  wish  near- 
est his  hot  human  heart,  to  the  clumsy  scheme 
dear  to  his  slow,  crude  brain.  He  thought  it  a 
warning  then  :  and  later  he  thought  this  still. 

Some  vague  stir  —  the  wind  perhaps,  or  per- 
haps a  light-footed  dryad  —  flitted  past  and  was 
gone.  The  surface  of  the  "  lick  "  rippled  with 
her  footprints,  and  was  smooth  again.  All  the 
encompassing  masses  of  trees  and  undergrowth 
about  the  place  were  densely  black  and  opaque, 
giving  the  sense  of  absolute  solidity  and  weight, 
except  upon  the  verges,  which  were  somehow 


204  The  Casting  Vote. 

shaded  off  into  a  cloudy  brown  against  the 
translucent  dove-tinted  tissues  in  which  the 
night  seemed  enveloped  and  obscured  save  for 
the  white  gleaming  of  the  stars.  This  was  the 
clear  color  that  the  brackish  water  wore  as  it 
reflected  the  night.  It  reflected  suddenly  a 
face  —  a  face  with  a  long  velvety  muzzle,  a  pair 
of  spreading  antlers,  and  dark  eyes,  gentle,  tim- 
orous, liquidly  bright.  The  water  stirred  with 
a  sibilant  lapping  sound  as  the  buck's  tongue 
licked  at  the  margin.  Once  he  held  up  his 
head  to  listen,  with  his  hoof  lifted,  then  he  bent 
again  to  the  ripples.  There  was  slight  relation 
between  him,  the  native  of  these  woods,  and 
that  wayward  waif  of  the  skies ;  but  among  the 
unnumbered  influences  and  incidents  of  its 
course  it  served  to  save  that  humble  sylvan  life 
for  a  space.  The  hunter  neither  saw  nor  heard. 
It  was  only  when  the  deer  with  a  sudden 
snort  and  a  precipitate  bound  fled  crashing 
through  the  laurel  that  Walter  Hoxon  became 
aware  of  his  presence,  and  of  the  stealthy  ap- 
proach that  had  alarmed  him.  The  approach 
was  stealthy  no  longer.  A  quick,  nervous 
tread,  a  rustling  of  the  boughs,  and  as  the 
hunter  rose  to  his  feet  his  elder  brother 
emerged  from  the  undergrowth,  taller  than  he 
as  they  stood  together  on  the  margin  of  the 
lick,  more  active,  sinewy,  alert. 


The  Casting  Vote.  205 

"Why  n't  ye  take  a  shot  at  him,  Wat?" 
cried  Justus  Hoxon  tumultuously.  "  I  '11  be 
bound  ye  war  nappin',"  he  added  in  keen  re- 
buke. 

A  pause,  then  Walter  Hoxon  pulled  himself 
together  and  retorted  :  — 

"  Nappin'  I  "  in  scornful  falsetto.  "  How 
could  I  get  a  shot,  with  ye  a-trompin'  up  ez 
n'isy  ez  a  herd  o'  cattle?  " 

The  reproach  evidently  struck  home,  for  the 
elder  said  nothing.  With  the  thoroughness 
characteristic  of  the  habitual  liar,  Walter  pro- 
ceeded to  add  circumstance  to  his  original  state- 
ment. 

"  I  seen  the  buck  whenst  he  fust  kem  sidlin' 
an'  slippin'  up  ter  the  water,  oneasy  an'  onsar- 
tain  from  the  fust  minute.  I  hed  jes'  sighted 
my  rifle.  An'  hyar  ye  kem,  a-bulgin'  out  o'  the 
lau'l,  an'  sp'iled  my  shot."  As  the  verisimili- 
tude of  his  representations  bore  upon  him,  he 
unconsciously  assumed  the  sentiments  natural 
to  the  situation  simulated.  "  Who  tole  ye  ez  I 
war  hyar,  anyhows  ?  "  he  demanded  angrily. 

"'Dosia,"  replied  Justus  Hoxon  in  a  mild 
tone.  Then,  with  an  effort  at  exculpation,  "  I 
'lowed  ye  'd  be  keen  —  plumb  sharp  set  —  fur 
news  'bout  the  prospec's  o'  the  'lection.  An' 
she  'lowed  ez  ye  hed  kem  down  hyar  hopin'  ter 
git  a  deer.  'T  war  The'dosia." 


206  The  Casting  Vote. 

At  the  name  the  other  had  turned  slightly 
away  and  looked  down,  a  gesture  that  invidious 
daylight  might  have  interpreted  as  anxiety,  or 
faltering,  or  at  the  least  replete  with  conscious- 
ness. But  even  if  open  to  observation,  it  could 
scarcely  have  signified  aught  to  Justus  Hoxon, 
wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  and  in  his  absorb- 
ing interest  in  the  events  of  the  day.  His 
mental  attitude  was  so  apparent  to  his  brother, 
albeit  his  form  was  barely  distinguishable  as 
they  stood  together  by  the  salt  lick,  that  Wat 
ventured  a  question  —  a  bold  one,  it  seemed  to 
him,  and  he  felt  a  chill  because  of  its  temerity. 

"  Glad  ter  see  ye,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Plumb  tickled  ter  death,"  exclaimed  Justus, 
his  laughing  voice  full  of  reminiscent  enthu- 
siasm. "  Thar  war  a  big  crowd  at  the  Cross- 
Roads  ter  hear  the  speakin',  an'  a  toler'ble  gath- 
erin'  at  Sycamore  Gap.  Everybody  inquired 
partic'lar  arter  ye,  an'  whenst  I  tole  'em  ye 
war  tuk  sick,  an'  could  n't  be  thar,  an'  I  war 
'lectioneerin'  in  yer  place,  they  shuck  han's,  an' 
shuck  han's.  One  ole  man  —  ole  Sam  Cog- 
gins,  up  ter  Siins's  Mill  —  says  ter  me,  he  says, 
'  I  dunno  yer  brother,  Justus  Hoxon ;  but 
blister  my  boots,  ef  I  don't  vote  fur  anybody  ez 
air  kin  ter  you-uns,  an'  ez  ye  hev  set  yer  heart 
on  'lectin'  ter  office.'  An'  the  way  folks  in- 
quired arter  ye,  an' ' 


The  Casting  Vote.  207 

"I  ain't  talkin'  'bout  the  'lection,"  Wat 
broke  in  brusquely.  "  I  war  axin'  'bout  'Do- 
sia.  She  war  "  —he  hesitated  —  " liable  ter  be 
glad  ter  see  ye,  I  reckon." 

There  was  a  note  of  surprise  in  his  brother's 
voice  from  which  Wat  shrank  in  sudden  alarm. 
"  Oh,  'Dosia, !  Course  she  war  glad.  I  seen 
her  jes'  now,  an'  she  told  me  ez  ye  hed  kem 
down  ter  the  lick  ter  git  a  shot  at  the  deer,  bein' 
ez  she  hed  'lowed  the  venison  war  powerful 
good  'bout  now.  I  never  stayed  but  a  minute. 
I  says,  '  'Dosia,  ye  an'  me  hev  got  the  rest  o' 
our  lives  ter  do  our  courtin'  in,  but  this  'lection 
hev  got  ter  be  tended  ter  nowy  kase  ef  Wat 
ain't  'lected  it  '11  set  him  back  all  his  life. 
Some  folks  'low  ez  't  ain't  perlite  an'  respec'ful, 
nohow,  fur  pore  folks  like  we-uns  ter  run  fur 
office,  like  ez  ef  we  war  good  ez  anybody.'  An' 
'Dosia  she  jes'  hustled  me  out'n  the  house. 
4  G'long !  G'long !  Do  everything  'bout'n  the 
'lection  !  Turn  every  stone  !  Time  enough  fur 
courtin'  arterward !  Time  enough ! ' 

Once  more  Justus  laughed  contentedly. 

The  man  beside  him  stirred  uneasily,  then 
broke  out  irritably :  "  Waal,  I'm  powerful  tired 
o'  this  'lection  foolishness,  fur  one.  I  wisht  I  hed 
never  let  ye  push  an'  boost  me  inter  it.  I  reckon 
them  war  right  ez  'lowed  pore  folks  like  we-uns 
ain't  fit  ter  run  fur  office,  an'  ain't  goin'  ter  git 


208  The  Casting  Vote. 

'lected.  I  'd  never  hev  dreamt  o'  sech  ef  it 
bed  n't  been  fur  you-uns  —  never  in  this  worF." 
Walter's  voice  sunk  moodily,  and  be  bad  a 
flouting  gesture  as  be  turned  aside. 

A  vicarious  ambition  is  tbe  most  ungrateful 
of  passions.  Tbere  was  something  more  than 
anger,  than  eager  affection,  than  urgent  re- 
proach, than  prescient  alarm,  albeit  all  rang 
sharply  forth,  in  his  brother's  voice  raised  to 
reply ;  it  was  a  keen  note  of  helplessness,  from 
which  Walter's  nerves  recoiled  with  a  sense  of 
pain,  so  insistently  clamorous  it  was. 

"  How  kin  ye  say  that !  "  cried  Justus.  "  Fur 
ye  ter  stan'  thar,  ready  ter  throw  away  all  yer 
good  chances,  jes'  kase  ye  hev  got  the  rheuma- 
tics an'  don't  feel  like  viewin'  the  people  — 
though  it  'pears  like  ye  air  well  enough  ter  go 
buntin'  of  deer  of  a  damp  night  at  a  salt  lick  ! 
An'  then,  kase  a  mean-spirited  half-liver  flings 
dirt  on  ye  an'  yer  fambly,  fur  ye  ter  sit  down 
on  a  low  stool,  an'  fill  yer  mouth  with  mud,  an' 
'low  this  air  plenty  good  enough  fur  we-uns  ! 
'  Pore  folks  ain't  fit  ter  git  'lected  ter  office ! ' " 
with  scornful  iteration.  "  My  Lord  !  this  hyar 
is  a  democratic  kentry ! "  with  an  echo  from 
the  stump  speeches  of  the  day.  "  Leastwise 
the  folks  yander  at  Sycamore  Gap  'peared  ter 
think  so.  This  hyar  Tom  Markham  he  war 
speakin'  on  the  issues  o'  the  day,  an'  bein'  he  's 


The  Casting  Vote.  209 

a  frien'  o'  Sheriff  Quigley's,  he  tuk  a  turn  at 
me  an'  you-uns,  o'  course.  Tole  the  folks  how 
my  dad  an'  mam  died  whenst  I  war  twelve 
year  old,  an'  how  the  only  reason  the  fambly 
warn't  sent  ter  the  pore-house  war  kase  the 
county  folks  war  dil'tory,  an'  put  it  off,  till  they 
'lowed  our  own  house  war  pore  enough.  An' 
then  he  sot  out  ter  be  mighty  funny,  an'  mocked 
the  way  I  useter  call  the  t'other  chil'n  '  Fambly,' 
sech  ez  —  '  Fambly,  kem  ter  dinner,  Fambly  ! ' 
*  Shet  up  yer  cryin',  Fambly !  '  An'  then  he 
tole  how  I  cooked  —  gathered  all  sorts  o'  yarbs 
an'  vegetables  tergether  an'  sot  a  pot  ter  bile, 
an'  whenever  '  Fambly  '  war  hongry  '  Fambly ' 
tuk  a  snack,  an'  gracefully  eat  out'n  the  pot  with 
thar  fingers.  An'  sometimes  'Fambly'  war 
moved  ter  wash  thar  clothes,  an'  they  all  re- 
paired ter  the  ruver-bank,  an'  rubbed  out  thar 
rags,  an'  hung  'em  on  the  bushes  ter  dry  —  an', 
duty  done,  '  Fambly '  went  a-wadin'.  Every- 
body jes'  laffed  an'  laffed  !  " 

There  was  a  strained  tone  in  his  voice,  not 
far  foreign  to  a  sob,  as  he  repeated  these  deri- 
sive flouts  at  his  early  and  forlorn  estate. 

"  An'  now,"  resuming  their  rehearsal,  "  thia 
enlightened  constituency  was  asked  ter  bestow 
on  a  scion  o'  this  same  '  Fambly '  —  ignorant, 
scrub,  pauper —  an  office  of  great  importance 
to  the  people,  that  needed  to  fill  it  a  man  o' 


210  The  Casting  Vote. 

eddication  an'  experiunce,  varsed  in  the  ways 
o'  the  world  —  asked  to  bestow  the  office  o' 
sheriff  o'  the  county  on  a  man  who  war  so 
obviously  incomp'tent  an'  illit'rate  that  he 
darsn't  face  the  people  ter  make  his  perpos- 
terous  demand !  " 

The  wind  came  and  went.  The  darkling 
bushes  bowed  and  bent  again.  The  leaves  took 
up  their  testimony  in  elusive,  sibilant  mutter- 
ings.  Justus  Hoxon's  eyes  were  cast  upward 
for  a  moment,  as  he  watched  a  massive  bough 
of  an  oak-tree  sway  against  the  far  sky,  shut- 
ting off  the  stars,  which  became  visible  anew 
as  the  elastic  branch  swung  back  once  more. 
Only  the  pallor  of  his  face  and  a  certain  lus- 
trous liquid  gleam  betokening  his  eyes  were 
distinguishable  to  his  brother,  who  neverthe- 
less watched  him  with  anxiety  and  quickened 
breathing  as  he  went  on  :  — 

"  That  thar  feller  hed  sca'cely  stepped  down 
off  n  that  thar  stump  afore  I  war  on  ter  it.  I 
asked  fur  a  few  minutes'  attention,  an'  'lowed, 
I  did,  that  Mr.  Markham's  account  o'  the  hum- 
ble beginnin's  of  me  an'  '  Fambly '  war  accu- 
rate an'  exac'.  (Everybody  hed  looked  fur  me 
ter  deny  it,  or  ter  git  mad,  or  suthin',  an'  they 
war  toler'ble  s'prised.)  *  Fambly '  did  eat  out'n 
the  pot  permiscuous,  an'  made  a  mighty  pore 
dinner  thar  many  a  day.  An'  '  Fambly '  washed 


The  Casting  Vote.  211 

thar  clothes  ez  described,  infrequent  enough,  an' 
no  doubt  war  ez  ragged  an'  dirty  ez  they  war 
hongry.  But,  I  said,  Mr.  Markham  hed  n't  told 
the  haffen  o'  it.  Cold  winter  nights,  when  the 
snow  sifted  in  through  the  cracks,  an'  the  wind 
blew  in  the  rotten  old  door,  '  Fambly '  liked  ter 
hev  friz  ter  death.  They  hed  the  pneumonia, 
an'  whoopin'-cough,  an'  croup  ;  an'  in  summer, 
bein'  a  perverse  set  o'  brats,  *  Fambly '  hed  fever 
an'  ager,  an'  similar  ailments  common  ter  the 
young  o'  the  human  race,  the  same  ez  ef  '  Fam- 
bly '  war  folks  !  'T  war  'stonishin',  kem  ter 
think  of  it,  how  '  Fambly '  hed  the  insurance 
ter  grow  up  ter  look  like  folks,  let  alone  set- 
tin'  out  ter  run  fur  office ;  an'  ef  God  hed  n't 
raised  'em  up  some  mighty  good  frien's  in  this 
county,  I  reckon  thar  wouldn't  be  much  o' 
'  Fambly  '  left.  Some  folks  'low  ez  Providence 
hev  got  mighty  leetle  jedgmint  in  worldly  af- 
fairs, an'  this  mus'  be  one  o'  the  strikin'  in- 
stances of  it.  These  frien's  gin  the  bigges'  boy 
work  ter  do,  an'  that  holped  ter  keep  '  Fambly's ' 
bodies  an'  souls  tergether.  I  reckon,  says  I,  that 
I  hev  ploughed  in  the  fields  o'  haffen  the  men  in 
our  deestric' ;  I  hev  worked  in  the  tan-yard ;  I 
hev  been  striker  in  the  blacksmith  shop  ;  an' 
all  the  time  that  pot,  aforesaid,  b'iled  at  home, 
an'  '  Fambly '  tuk  thar  dinner  thar  constant, 
with  thar  fingers,  ez  aforesaid.  But  *  Fambly ' 


212  The  Casting  Vote. 

warn't  so  durned  ragged,  nuther.  Good  neigh- 
bors gin  'em  some  clothes  wunst  in  a  while,  an' 
1'arned  the  gals  ter  sew  an'  cook  some.  An' 
thar  kem  ter  be  a  skillet  an'  a  fryin'-pan  on  the 
h'a'th  ter  holp  the  pot  out.  Why,  'Fambly' 
got  so  prosperous  that  one  day,  whenst  a'  ole, 
drunken,  cripple,  ragged  man  war  passin',  they 
enj'yed  themselves  mightily,  lafiin'  at  somebody 
po'rer  than  themselves.  An'  ole  Pa'son  Tyson 
war  goin'  by  in  his  gig,  an'  he  tuk  note  o'  the 
finger  o'  scorn,  an'  he  stopped.  He  said  mighty 
leetle,  but  he  tuk  the  trouble  ter  cut  a  stout 
hickory  sprout,  an'  he  gin  '  Farnbly '  a  good 
thrashin'  all  roun'.  It  lasted  'Fambly'  well. 
They  ain't  laffed  at '  God's  pore  '  sence  !  Waal, 
'  Fambly '  's  takin'  up  too  much  o'  this  enlight- 
ened assembly's  attention.  Enough  to  tell 
what 's  kem  o'  '  Fambly.'  The  oldes'  gal  went 
ter  free  school,  1'arned  ter  read,  write,  an' 
cipher,  an'  married  Pa'son  Tyson's  son,  ez  air 
a  minister  o'  the  gospel  a-ridin'  a  Methodis' 
circuit  in  north  Georgy  now.  An'  the  second 
gal "  —  his  voice  faltered  —  "  she  went  ter  free 
school,  1'arned  mo'  still  o'  readin'  an'  writin'  an' 
cipherin',  an'  taught  school  two  year  down  on 
Bird  Creek,  an'  war  goin'  ter  be  married  ter 
a  good  man,  well-ter-do,  who  had  built  her  a 
house,  not  knowin'  ez  God  hed  prepared  her  a 
mansion  in  the  skies.  She  is  livin'  thar  now ! 


The  Casting  Vote.  213 

An'  las',  the  Benjamin  o'  all  the  tribe,  kerns  my 
brother  Walter.  He  went  ter  school ;  kin  read, 
write,  an'  cipher  ;  he 's  been  taught  ez  much  ez 
any  man  ez  ever  held  the  office  he  axes  ter  be 
'lected  ter,  an'  air  thoroughly  competent.  Fac' 
is,  gentlemen,  thar  's  nothin'  lef '  ter  show  fur 
the  humble  '  Fambly '  Mr.  Markham  's  be'n 
tellin'  'bout,  but  me.  I  never  went  ter  school, 
'ceptin'  in  yer  fields.  I  1'arned  ter  cure  hides, 
an'  temper  steel,  an'  shoe  horse-critters,  so  that 
pot  mought  be  kep'  a-b'ilin',  an'  '  Fambly ' 
mought  dine  accordin'  to  thar  humble  way  in 
them  very  humble  days  that  somehow,  gentle- 
men, I  ain't  got  an'  can't  git  the  grace  ter  be 
'shamed  of  yit." 

He  paused  abruptly  as  he  concluded  the  re- 
cital of  his  speech,  and  wiped  his  face  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  "  I  wisht  ye  could  hev  hearn 
them  men  cheer.  They  jes'  hollered  tharse'fs 
hoarse.  They  shuck  hands  till  they  mighty 
nigh  yanked  my  arm  out'n  its  socket."  With 
the  recollection,  he  rubbed  his  right  arm  with  a 
gesture  of  pain. 

Something  there  was  in  the  account  of  this 
ovation  that  smote  upon  the  younger  brother's 
sense  of  values,  and  he  hastened  to  take  pos- 
session of  it. 

"Oh,  I  knowed  I  war  powerful  pop'lar  in 
the  Sycamore  Gap  deestric',"  he  said,  dropping 


214  The  Casting  Vote. 

his  lowering  manner,  that  had  somehow  been 
perceptible  in  the  darkness,  and  wagging  his 
head  from  side  to  side  with  a  gesture  of  great 
security  in  the  affections  of  Sycamore  Gap. 
"  Sycamore  Gap  's  all  right,  I  know ;  I  '11  poll 
a  big  majority  thar,  sure." 

"  I  reckon  ye  will ;  but  I  warn't  so  sure  o' 
that  at  fust,"  replied  the  elder.  "  They  'peared 
ter  me  at  fust  ter  be  sorter  set  ag'in  us  —  least- 
wise me,  though  arter  a  while  I  could  hardly  git 
away  from  'em,  they  war  so  durned  friendly." 

Walter  cast  a  keen  look  upon  him ;  but  he 
evidently  spoke  from  his  simple  heart,  and  was 
all  unaware  that  he  was  personally  the  source 
of  this  sudden  popularity  in  Sycamore  Gap  — 
his  magnetism,  his  unconscious  eloquence,  and 
his  character  as  shown  in  the  simple  and  for- 
lorn annals  of  "  Fambly."  And  yet  he  was 
not  crudely  unthinking.  He  perceived  the  in- 
congruity of  his  brother's  successive  stand- 
points. 

"  I  dunno  how  ye  kin  purtend  ter  be  so  all- 
fired  sure  o'  Sycamore  Gap,"  he  said  suddenly. 
"  'T  ain't  five  minutes  sence  ye  war  'lowiii'  ez 
pore  folks  could  n't  git  'lected  ter  office,  an'  ye 
wished  ye  hed  hed  nothin'  ter  do  with  sech,  an' 
't  war  me  ez  hed  jes'  pushed  an'  boosted  ye  inter 
it." 

The   resources   of   subterfuge   are  well-nigh 


The  Casting  Vote.  215 

limitless.  Walter  Hoxon  was  an  adept  in  util- 
izing them.  He  had  seen  a  warning  in  the 
skies,  and  it  had  struck  terror  and  discour- 
agement to  his  heart;  but  not  to  his  political 
prospects  had  he  felt  its  application.  Other 
schemes,  deeper,  treacherous,  secret,  seemed 
menaced,  and  his  conscience,  or  that  endow- 
ment to  quake  with  the  fear  of  requital  that 
answers  for  conscience  in  some  ill-developed 
souls,  was  set  astir.  Nevertheless,  the  election 
might  suffice  as  scapegoat. 

"  Look  a-yander,  Justus,"  he  said  suddenly, 
pointing  with  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  at  the 
brilliant  wayfarer  of  the  skies,  as  if  he  might 
in  another  moment  essay  a  shot.  "  That  thar 
critter  means  mischief,  sure  ez  ye  air  born." 

The  other  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  and 
lifted  his  head  to  look. 

"  The  comic  ?  "  he  demanded.  Walter's  si- 
lence seemed  assent.  "  Laws-a-massy,  ye  tom- 
fool," Justus  cried,  "  let  it  be  a  sign  ter  them 
ez  run  ag'in'  ye !  Count  the  comic  in  like  a 
qualified  voter  —  it  kem  hyar  on  account  o'  the 
incumbent's  incompetence  in  office.  Signs ! 
Rolf  Quigley  is  sign  enough,  —  if  ye  want  signs 
in  'lections,  — with  money,  an'  frien's,  an'  a 
term  of  office,  an'  the  reg'lar  nominee  o'  the 
party,  an'  ye  jes'  an  independent  candidate. 
No  star  a-waggin'  a  tale  aroun'  the  sky  air 


216  The  Casting  Vote. 

haffen  ez  dangerous  ter  yer  'lection  ez  him. 
An'  he  ain't  lookin'  at  no  comic !  He  looked 
this  evenin'  like  he  'd  put  his  finger  in  his 
mouth  in  one  more  minute,  plumb  'shamed  ter 
his  boot-sole  o'  the  things  Markham  hed  said. 
An'  Markham  he  kem  up  ter  me  before  a  crowd 
o'  fellers,  an'  says,  says  he :  '  Mr.  Hoxon,  I 
meant  no  reflections  on  yer  fambly  in  alludin' 
ter  its  poverty,  an'  I  honor  ye  fur  yer  lifelong 
exertions  in  its  behalf.  I  take  pride,  sir,  in 
makin'  this  apology.'  An'  I  says :  'I  be  a' 
illit'rate,  humble  man,  Mr.  Markham;  but  I 
will  venture  the  liberty  to  tell  ye  ez  ye  mought 
take  mo'  pride  in  givin'  no  occasion  fur  apolo- 
gies ter  poverty.'  Them  fellers  standin'  aroun' 
jes'  laffed.  I  knowed  he  did  n't  mean  a  word  he 
said  then,  but  war  jes'  slickin'  over  the  things 
he  hed  said  on  Quigley's  account,  kase  the  crowd 
seemed  ter  favor  me.  I  say,  comic !  Let  Rolf 
Quigley  take  the  comic  fur  a  sign." 

It  is  easy  to  pluck  up  fears  that  have  no 
root.  "Oh,  I  be  goin'  ter  'lectioneer  all  the 
same  ez  ever.  Whar  's  the  nex'  place  we  air 
bound  fur?  " 

Walter  put  his  hand  on  his  brother's  shoulder 
as  he  asked  the  question,  and  in  the  eager  un- 
folding of  plans  and  possibilities  the  two,  as 
Justus  talked,  made  their  way  along  the  deer- 
path  beside  the  salt  lick,  leaving  the  stars  coldly 


The  Casting  Vote.  217 

glittering  on  the  ripples,  with  that  wonderful 
streak  of  white  fire  reflected  among  them ;  leav- 
ing, too,  the  vaguely  whispering  woods,  com- 
muning with  the  wind  as  it  came  and  went ; 
reaching  the  slope  of  the  mountain  at  last, 
where  was  perched,  amid  sterile  fields  and  hum- 
ble garden-patch,  the  little  cabin  in  which  "  Fam- 
bly  "  had  struggled  through  its  forlorn  youth  to 
better  days. 

The  door  was  closed  after  this.  A  padlock 
knocked  against  it  when  the  wind  blew,  as  if 
spuriously  announcing  a  visitor.  The  deceit 
failed  of  effect,  for  there  was  no  inmate  left, 
and  the  freakish  gust  could  only  twirl  the  lock 
anew,  and  go  swirling  down  the  road  with  a 
rout  of  dust  in  a  witches'  dance  behind  it.  The 
passers-by  took  note  of  the  deserted  aspect  of 
things,  and  knew  that  the  brothers  were  absent 
electioneering,  and  wondered  vaguely  what  the 
chances  might  be.  This  passing  was  somewhat 
more  frequent  than  was  normal  along  the  road ; 
for  when  the  mists  that  had  hung  about  the 
mountains  persistently  during  a  warm,  clammy, 
wet  season  had  withdrawn  suddenly,  and  one 
night  revealed  for  the  first  time  the  comet  fairly 
ablaze  in  the  sky,  a  desire  to  hear  what  was  said 
and  known  about  it  at  the  Cross-Roads  and  the 
settlement  and  the  blacksmith  shop  took  posses- 


218  The  Casting  Vote. 

sion  of  the  denizens  of  the  region,  and  the  co- 
teries of  amateur  astronomers  at  these  centres 
were  added  to  daily.  Some  remembered  a  comet 
or  two  in  past  times,  and  if  the  deponent  were 
advanced  in  years  his  hearers  were  given  to 
understand  that  the  present  luminary  could  n't 
hold  a  tallow  dip  to  the  incandescent  terrors 
he  recollected.  There  were  utilitarian  souls 
who  were  disquieted  about  the  crops,  and  anx- 
iously examined  growing  ears  of  corn,  expect- 
ing to  find  the  comet's  influence  tucked  away 
in  the  husks.  Some  looked  for  the  end  of  the 
world ;  those  most  obviously  and  determinedly 
pious  took,  it  might  seem,  a  certain  unfraternal 
joy  in  the  contrast  of  their  superior  forethought, 
in  being  prepared  for  the  day  of  doom,  with  the 
uncovenanted  estate  of  the  non-professor.  A 
revival  broke  out  at  New  Bethel ;  the  number 
of  mourners  grew  in  proportion  as  the  comet 
got  bigger  night  by  night.  Small  wonder  that 
as  evening  drew  slowly  on,  and  the  flaring, 
assertive,  red  west  gradually  paled,  and  the 
ranges  began  to  lose  semblance  and  symme- 
try in  the  dusk,  and  the  river  gloomed  be- 
nighted in  the  vague  circuit  of  its  course,  and 
a  lonely  star  slipped  into  the  sky,  darkening, 
too,  till,  rank  after  rank,  and  phalanx  after 
phalanx,  all  the  splendid  armament  of  night 
had  mustered,  with  that  great,  glamourous  gui- 


The  Casting  Vote.  219 

don  in  the  midst  —  small  wonder  that  the  ig- 
norant mountaineer  looked  up  at  the  unaccus- 
tomed thing  to  mark  it  there,  and  fear  smote 
his  heart. 

At  these  times  certain  of  the  little  sequestered 
households  far  among  the  wooded  ranges  got 
them  within  their  doors,  as  if  to  place  between 
them  and  the  uncanny  invader  of  the  night,  and 
the  threatening  influences  rife  in  the  very  atmos- 
phere, all  the  simple  habitudes  of  home.  The 
hearthstone  seemed  safest,  the  door  a  barrier, 
the  home  circle  a  guard.  Others  spent  the  noc- 
turnal hours  in  the  dooryard  or  on  the  porch, 
marking  the  march  of  the  constellations,  and 
filling  the  time  with  vague  speculations,  or  re- 
tailing dreadful  rumors  of  strange  happenings 
in  the  neighboring  coves,  and  wild  stories  of 
turmoil  and  misfortune  that  comets  had  wrought 
years  ago. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  makeshift  observatories 
that  Justus  Hoxon  stopped  the  first  evening 
after  his  electioneering  tour  in  the  interest  of 
his  brother.  The  weather  had  turned  hot  and 
fair ;  a  drought,  a  set-oil  to  the  surplusage  of 
recent  rain,  was  in  progress ;  the  dooryard  on 
the  high  slope  of  the  mountain,  apart  from  its 
availability  for  the  surveillance  of  any  eccentric 
doings  of  the  comet,  was  an  acceptable  loung- 
ing-place  for  the  sake  of  the  air,  the  dew,  the 


220  The  Casting  Vote. 

hope  of  a  vagrant  breeze,  and,  more  than  all, 
the  ample  "  elbow-room  "  which  it  offered  the 
rest  of  the  family  while  he  talked  with  Theo- 
dosia  Blakely.  The  rest  of  the  family  —  un- 
welcome wights  !  —  were  not  disposed  to  make 
their  existence  obtrusive ;  on  the  contrary,  they 
did  much  to  further  his  wishes,  even  to  the  sac- 
rifice of  personal  predilection.  Mrs.  Blakely, 
her  arms  befloured,  her  hands  in  the  dough, 
had  observed  him  at  the  gate,  while  she  stood 
at  the  biscuit-block  in  the  shed-room,  and  al- 
though pining  to  rush  forth  and  ask  the  latest 
news  from  the  settlement  and  the  comet,  she 
only  called  out  in  a  husky  undertone :  "  'Dosia, 
'Dosia,  yander  's  Justus  a-kemin'  in  the  gate ! 
Put  on  yer  white  apern,  chile." 

Because  she  had  been  adjured  to  put  on  her 
white  apron,  Theodosia  did  not  put  it  on.  She 
advanced  to  the  window,  about  which  grew, 
with  its  graceful  habit,  a  hop-vine.  A  little 
slanting  roof  was  above  the  lintel,  a  mere  board 
or  so,  with  a  few  warped  shingles ;  but  it  made 
a  gentle  shadow,  and  Theodosia  thought  few 
men  besides  the  one  at  the  gate  would  have 
failed  to  see  her  there.  He  lingered  a  little, 
turning  back  to  glance  over  the  landscape,  and 
then  he  deflected  his  course  toward  a  rough 
bench  that  was  placed  in  a  corner  of  the  rail 
fence,  threw  himself  upon  it,  and  fanned  him- 
self with  his  broad-brimmed  hat. 


The  Casting  Vote.  221 

"The  insurance  o' the  critter!  I'm  a  mind 
ter  leave  ye  a-settin'  thar  by  yerse'f  till  ye  be 
wore  out  waitin',"  she  muttered. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  took  her  sun- 
bonnet  and  went  out  to  meet  him. 

The  scene  was  like  some  great  painting,  with 
this  corner  in  the  foreground  left  unfinished, 
so  minute  was  the  detail  of  the  distance,  so 
elaborate  and  perfect  the  coloring  of  the  curves 
of  purple,  and  amethyst,  and  blue  mountains 
afar  off,  rising  in  tiers  about  the  cup-shaped 
valley.  Above  it  hung  a  tawny  tissue  of  haze, 
surcharged  with  a  deeply  red,  vinous  splendor, 
as  if  spilled  from  the  stirrup-cup  of  the  depart- 
ing sun.  He  was  already  out  of  sight,  spurring 
along  unknown  ways.  The  sky  was  yellow  here 
and  amber  there,  and  a  pearly  flake,  its  only 
cloud,  glittered  white  in  the  midst.  Up  the 
hither  slope  the  various  green  of  the  pine  and 
the  poplar,  the  sycamore  and  the  sweet-gum, 
was  keenly  differentiated,  but  where  the  rail 
fence  drew  the  line  of  demarkation,  Art  seemed 
to  fail. 

A  crude  wash  of  ochre  had  apparently  suf- 
ficed for  the  dooryard ;  no  weed  grew  here,  no 
twig.  It  was  tramped  firm  and  hard  by  the  feet 
of  cow,  and  horse,  and  the  peripatetic  children, 
and  poultry.  The  cabin  was  drawn  in  with 
careless  angles  and  lines  by  a  mere  stroke  or 


222  The  Casting  Vote. 

two ;  and  surely  no  painter,  no  builder  save  the 
utilitarian  backwoodsman,  would  have  left  it 
with  no  relief  of  trees  behind  it,  no  vineyard, 
no  garden,  no  orchard,  no  background,  naught ; 
in  its  gaunt  simplicity  and  ugliness  it  stood 
against  its  own  ill-tended  fields  flattening  away 
in  the  rear. 

Such  as  it  was,  however,  it  satisfied  all  of 
Justus  Hoxon's  sense  of  the  appropriate  and 
the  picturesque  when  Theodosia  Blakely  stepped 
out  from  the  door  and  came  slowly  to  meet  him. 
The  painter's  art,  if  she  were  to  be  esteemed 
part  of  the  foreground,  might  have  seemed 
redeemed  in  her.  Her  dress  was  of  light  blue 
homespun;  her  sunbonnet  of  deep  red  calico, 
pushed  back,  showed  her  dark  brown  hair  wav- 
ing upward  in  heavy  undulations  from  her  brow, 
her  large  blue  eyes  with  their  thick  black  lashes, 
her  rich  brunette  complexion,  her  delicate  red 
lips  cut  in  fine  lines,  and  the  gleam  of  her  teeth 
as  she  smiled.  She  had  a  string  of  opaque 
white,  wax-like  beads  around  the  neck  of  her 
dress,  and  the  contrast  of  the  pearly  whiteness 
of  the  bauble  with  the  creamy  whiteness  and 
softness  of  her  throat  was  marked  with  much 
finish.  Her  figure  was  hardly  of  medium  height, 
and,  despite  the  suppleness  of  youth,  as  "  plump 
as  a  partridge,"  according  to  the  familiar  say- 
ing. The  clear  iris  of  her  eyes  gave  an  impres- 


The  Casting  Vote.  223 

sion  of  quick  shifting,  and  by  them  one  could 
see  her  mood  change  as  she  approached. 

She  looked  at  him  intently,  speculatively,  a 
sort  of  doubtful  curiosity  furtively  suggested  in 
her  expression ;  but  there  was  naught  subtle  or 
covert  in  the  gaze  that  met  hers  —  naught  but 
the  frankest  pleasure  and  happiness.  He  did 
not  move,  as  she  advanced,  nor  offer  formal 
greeting ;  he  only  smiled,  secure,  content,  rest- 
ful, as  she  came  up  and  sat  down  on  the  end 
of  the  bench.  The  children,  playing  noisily  in 
the  back  yard  on  the  wood-pile,  paused  for  a 
moment  to  gaze  with  callow  interest  at  them ; 
but  the  spectacle  of  "The'dosia's  sweetheart" 
was  too  familiar  to  be  of  more  than  fleeting  di- 
version, and  they  resorted  once  more  to  their 
pastime.  Mrs.  Blakely  too,  who  with  rolling-pin 
in  her  hand  had  turned  to  gaze  out  of  the  win- 
dow, went  back  to  rolling  out  the  dough  vigor- 
ously, with  only  the  muttered  comment,  "  Wish 
The'dosia  did  n't  know  how  much  I  'd  like  that 
man  fur  a  son-in-law,  then  she  'd  be  willin'  ter 
like  him  better  herse'f." 

He  was  unconscious  of  them  all,  as  he  leaned 
his  elbow  on  the  projecting  rails  of  the  fence  at 
their  intersection  close  at  hand. 

"  Hev  ye  hed  yer  health,  The'dosia?  "  he  said. 

"Don't  I  look  like  it?"  she  replied  laugh- 
ingly. 


224  The  Casting  Vote. 

There  was  something  both  of  cordiality  and 
coquetry  in  her  manner.  Her  large  eyes  nar- 
rowed as  she  laughed,  and  albeit  they  glittered 
between  their  closing  lids,  the  expression  was 
not  pleasant.  Levity  did  not  become  her. 

"  Yes,  ye  do,"  he  said  seriously.  "  Ye  'pear 
ter  be  real  thrivin'  an'  peart  an'  healthy." 

His  look,  his  words,  were  charged  with  no 
sort  of  recognition  or  value  of  her  beauty: 
clearly  her  challenge  had  fallen  to  the  ground 
unnoticed. 

"  He  'd  like  me  jes'  ez  well  ef  I  war  all  pitted 
up  with  the  smallpox,  or  ez  freckled  ez  a  tur-r- 
key-aig,"  she  thought,  flushing  with  irritation. 

Beauty  is  jealous  of  preeminence,  and  would 
fain  have  precedence  even  of  love.  She  could 
take  no  sort  of  satisfaction  in  a  captive  that  her 
bright  eyes  had  not  shackled.  Somehow  this 
love  seemed  to  flout,  to  diminish,  her  attrac- 
tions. It  was  like  an  accident.  She  could 
account  for  his  subjection  on  no  other  grounds. 
As  she  sat  silent,  grave  enough  now  and  very 
beautiful,  gazing  askance  and  troubled  upon 
him,  he  went  on  :  — 

"  I  war  so  oneasy  an'  beset  lest  suthin'  hed 
happened  on  the  mounting,  whilst  I  war  away, 
ter  trouble  you-uns  or  some  o'  yer  folks.  I 
never  hed  time  ter  study  much  'bout  sech  in 
the  day,  but  I  dreamt  'bout  ye  in  the  night,  an' 


The  Casting  Vote.  225 

all  night"  —  he  laughed  a  little,  —  " all  sort'n 
mixed  up  things.  I  got  ter  be  a  plumb  Joseph 
fur  readin'  dreams  —  only  I  could  read  the 
same  one  forty  diff'rent  ways,  an'  every  way 
made  me  a  leetle  mo'  oneasy  than  the  t'other 
one.  I  s'pose  ye  hev  been  perlite  enough  ter 
miss  me  a  leetle,"  he  concluded. 

She  flashed  her  great  eyes  at  him  with  a  pre- 
tended stare  of  surprise.  "  My  —  no  !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  We-uns  hev  hed  the  comet  ter 
keep  us  comp'ny  —  we  ain't  missed  nobody !  " 

He  laughed  a  little,  as  at  a  repartee,  and  then 
went  on :  — 

"  Waal,  the  comic  war  a-cuttin'  a  pretty 
showy  figger  down  yander  at  Colbury.  'Ston- 
ishin'  how  much  store  folks  do  'pear  ter  set  on 
it!  They  hed  rigged  up  some  sort'n  peepin'- 
glass  in  the  Court-House  yard,  an'  thar  war 
mighty  nigh  the  whole  town  a-squinchin'  up  one 
eye  ter  examinate  the  consarn  through  it  —  all 
the  court  off'cers,  'torney-gin'ral,  an'  sech,  an' 
old  Doctor  Kane  an'  Jedge  Peters,  besides  a 
whole  passel  o'  ginerality  folks.  They  'lowed 
the  glass  made  it  'pear  bigger." 

"  Did  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Bless  yer  soul,  chile,  /  did  n't  hev  time  ter 
waste  on  it.  Jedge  Peters  he  beckoned  ter 
me,  an'  'lowed  he  'd  interjuce  me  ter  it ;  but  I 
'lowed  the  comic  outside  war  plenty  big  enough 


226  The  Casting  Vote. 

fur  me.  '  Jedge,'  I  says,  '  my  mission  hyar  air 
ter  make  onnecessary  things  seem  small,  not 
magnified.  That 's  why  I  'm  continually  be- 
littlin'  Kolf  Quigley.  Wat  kin  go  on  lookin' 
cross-eyed  at  the  stars,  ef  so  minded,  but  I  be 
bound  ter  tend  ter  the  'lection.'  An'  the  jedge 
laffed  and  says :  '  Justus,  nex'  time  I  want  ter 
git  'lected  ter  office,  I  'm  goin'  ter  git  ye  ter 
boost  me  in.  Ye  hev  got  it  a  sight  mo'  at  heart 
than  yer  brother.'  Fur  thar  war  Wat,  all 
twisted  up  at  the  small  e-end  o'  the  tellingscope, 
purtendin'  ter  be  on  mighty  close  terms  with 
the  comic,  though  lots  o'  other  men  said  it  jes' 
dazed  thar  eyes,  an'  they  couldn't  see  nuthin' 
through  it,  an'  mighty  leetle  arterward  through 
sightin'  so  long  one-eyed." 

"Waal,  how's  the  prospects  fur  the  'lec- 
tion ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Fine !  Fine !  "  he  answered  with  gusto. 
"  Folks  all  be  so  frien'ly  everywhar  ter  we-uns." 

He  leaned  his  shoulder  suddenly  back  against 
the  rough  rails  of  the  fence.  His  hat  was  in 
his  hand.  His  hair,  fine,  thin,  chestnut-brown, 
and  closely  clinging  about  his  narrow  head,  was 
thrown  back  from  his  forehead.  His  clear  blue 
eyes  were  turned  upward,  with  the  light  of  rem- 
iniscence slowly  dawning  in  them.  It  may  have 
been  the  reflection  of  the  dazzling  flake  of  cloud, 
it  may  have  been  some  mental  illumination,  but 


The  Casting  Vote.  227 

a  sort  of  radiance  was  breaking  over  the  keen, 
irregular  lines  of  his  features,  and  a  flush  other 
than  the  floridity  of  a  naturally  fair  complexion 
was  upon  his  thin  cheek  and  hollow  temple. 

"O  The'dosia,"  he  cried,  "I  can't  holp 
thinkin',  hevin'  so  many  frien's  nowadays, — 
whenst  it 's  '  Hail ! '  hyar,  an'  *  Howdy ! '  thar, 
an'  a  clap  on  the  shoulder  ter  the  east,  an'  a 
'  How 's  yer  health  ? '  ter  the  west,  an'  a  hand- 
shake ter  the  north,  an'  ' Take  a  drink? '  ter  the 
south,  from  one  e-end  o'  the  county  ter  the 
t'other,  —  how  I  fared  whenst  I  hed  jes'  one 
f rien'  in  the  worl',  an'  that  war  yer  mother ! 
An'  how  she  looked  the  fust  day  she  stood  in 
the  door  o'  my  cabin  up  thar  —  kem  ter  nuss 
Elmiry  through  that  spell  she  hed  o'  the  scarlet 
fever.  An'  arterward  she  says  ter  me :  '  Ye 
do  manage  s'prisin',  Justus ;  an'  I  be  goin'  ter 
save  ye  some  gyardin  seed  out'n  my  patch  this 
year,  an'  ef  ye  '11  plough  my  patch  I  '11  loan  ye 
my  horse-critter  ter  plough  your'n.  An'  the  gals 
kin  kem  an'  1'arn  ter  sew  an'  churn,  an'  sech, 
long  o'  'Dosia.'  An'  how  they  loved  ye,  'Dosia 
—  special  Elmiry !  " 

His  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears.  They  did 
not  fall;  they  were  absorbed  somehow  as  he 
resumed :  — 

"  Sech  a  superflu'ty  o'  frien's  nowadays  !  Ef 
't  warn't  they  'd  count  fur  all  they  're  wuth  in 


228  The  Casting  Vote. 

the  ballot-box,  I  'd  hev  no  use  fur  'em.  I  kin 
sca'cely  'member  thar  names.  But  then  I  hed 
jes'  one  —  jes'  one  in  all  the  worl'  —  yer  mo- 
ther !  Bless  her  soul !  "  he  concluded  enthusias- 
tically. 

He  was  still  and  reflective  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  made  a  motion  as  though  he  would 
take  one  of  Theodosia's  hands.  But  she  clasped 
both  of  them  demurely  behind  her. 

"  I  don't  hold  hands  with  no  man  ez  blesses 
another  'oman's  soul  by  the  hour,"  she  said,  with 
an  affectation  of  primness. 

There  may  have  been  something  more  serious 
in  her  playful  rebuff,  but  in  the  serenity  of  his 
perfect  security  he  did  not  feel  it  or  gauge  its 
depth. 

A  glimpse  of  her  mother  at  the  window  added 
its  suggestion  —  a  lean,  sallow,  lined  face,  full 
of  anxious  furrows,  with  a  rim  of  scanty  gray- 
streaked  hair  about  the  brow,  with  spectacles 
perched  above,  and  beneath  the  flabby  jaw  a 
scraggy,  wrinkled  neck. 

"  An'  she 's  so  powerful  pretty !  "  Theodosia 
exclaimed,  with  an  irreverent  burst  of  laughter, 
"  I  don't  wonder  ye  feel  obligated  ter  bless  her 
soul." 

"  She  'pears  plumb  beautiful  to  my  mind,"  he 
said  unequivocally,  —  "all  of  a  piece  with  her 
beautiful  life." 


The  Casting  Vote.  229 

Theodosia  was  suddenly  grave,  angered  into 
a  secret,  sullen  irritation.  These  were  words 
she  loved  for  herself :  it  was  but  lately  she  had 
learned  so  to  prize  them.  Her  eyes  were  as 
bright  as  a  deer's  !  Had  not  some  one  protested 
this,  with  a  good  round  rural  oath  as  attestation  ? 
Her  hair  on  the  back  of  her  head,  and  its  shape 
to  the  nape  of  her  neck,  were  so  beautiful  —  she 
had  never  seen  it :  how  could  she  say  it  was  n't  ? 
Her  chin  and  her  throat  —  well,  if  people  could 
think  snow  was  a  prettier  white,  he  wouldn't 
give  much  for  their  head-stuffin'.  And  her 
blush !  her  blush !  It  was  her  own  fault.  He 
would  not  have  taken  another  kiss  if  she  had 
not  blushed  so  at  the  first  that  he  must  needs 
again  see  her  cheek  glow  like  the  wild  rose. 

These  were  echoes  of  a  love-making  that  had 
lately  taken  hold  of  her  heart,  that  had  grown 
insistently  sweet  and  dear  to  her,  that  had  estab- 
lished its  sway  impetuously,  tyrannically,  over 
her  life,  that  had  caused  her  to  seem  more  to 
herself,  and  as  if  she  were  infinitely  more  to  her 
new  lover. 

She  wondered  how  she  could  ever  have  even 
tolerated  this  dullard,  with  his  slow,  measured 
preference,  his  unquestioning  security  of  her 
heart,  his  doltish  credulity  in  her  and  her  prom- 
ise, his  humble  gratitude  to  her  mother,  —  who 
had  often  enough,  in  good  sooth,  got  full  value 


230  The  Casting  Vote. 

in  return  for  aught  she  gave,  —  who  appeared 
"  beautiful  "  to  his  mind.  She  broke  forth  ab- 
ruptly, her  cheeks  flushing,  her  eyes  brave  and 
bright,  the  subject  nearest  her  heart  on  her  lips, 
in  the  sudden  influx  of  courage  set  astir  by  the 
mere  contemplation  of  it. 

"  Waal  now,  tell  'bout  Wat  —  how  he  enj'ys 
bein'  a  candidate,  an'  sech."  Then,  with  a 
tremor  because  of  her  temerity  :  "  I  have  hearn 
o'  that  thar  beautisome  old  'oman  a  time  or  two 
afore,  but  Wat  ez  a  candidate  air  sorter  fraish 
an'  new." 

He  turned  his  clear,  unsuspicious  eyes  upon 
her.  He  had  replaced  his  wide  wool  hat  on  his 
head,  and  he  leaned  forward,  resting  his  cheek 
on  his  hand  and  his  elbow  on  his  knee.  He 
aimlessly  flicked  his  long  spurred  boot,  as  he 
talked,  with  a  willow  wand  which  he  carried  in 
lieu  of  horsewhip. 

"Waal,  Wat  is  some  similar  ter  a  balky 
horse.  He  don't  seem  ter  sense  a  word  I  say, 
nor  ter  be  willin'  ter  do  a  thing  I  advise,  nor 
even  ter  take  heart  o'  grace  'bout  bein'  'lected, 
till  we  gets  out  'mongst  folks,  an'  thar  hand- 
shakin's  and  frien'liness  seems  ter  hearten  up 
the  critter.  I  hev  jes'  hed  ter  baig  an'  baig,  an' 
plead  an'  plead,  with  that  boy  'bout  this  an' 
that  an'  t'other,  till  I  would  n't  go  through 
ag'in  what  I  hev  been  through  ter  git  'lected 


The  Casting  Vote.  231 

doorkeeper  o'  heaven.  But,"  with  a  sudden 
change  of  tone  and  a  flush  of  pride,  "  The'dosia, 
ye  dunno  what  a'  all-fired  pretty  speaker  Wat 
hev  got  ter  be.  Jes'  stan's  up  ez  straight  an' 
smilin'  afore  all  the  crowd,  an'  jes'  tells  off  his 
p'ints,  one,  two,  three,  ez  nip !  An'  the  crowd 
always  cheers  an'  cheers  —  jes'  bawls  itse'f 
hoarse.  Whenever  thar  's  a  chance  ter  speak, 
Wat  jes'  leaves  them  t'other  candidates  nowhar." 

Ah,  Theodosia's  beauty  well  deserved  the 
guerdon  of  sweet  words.  She  might  have  been 
pictured  as  a  thirsting  Hebe.  She  had  a  look 
of  quaffing  some  cup  of  nectar,  still  craving  its 
depths,  so  immediate  a  joy,  so  intense  a  light, 
were  in  her  widely  open  eyes ;  her  lips  were 
parted ;  the  spray  of  blackberry  leaves  that  she 
held  near  her  cheek  did  not  quiver,  so  had  her 
interest  petrified  every  muscle.  She  was  lean- 
ing slightly  forward ;  her  red  sunbonnet  had 
fallen  to  the  ground,  and  the  wind  tossed  her 
dark  brown  hair  till  the  heavy  masses,  with 
their  curling  ends  disheveled,  showed  tendrils  of 
golden  hue.  Her  round,  plump  arm  was  like 
ivory.  The  torn  sleeve  fell  away  to  the  elbow, 
and  her  mother,  glancing  out  of  the  window, 
took  remorseful  heed  of  it,  and  wished  that  she 
herself  had  set  a  stitch  in  it. 

"  The'dosia  shows  herself  so  back'ard  'bout 
mendin',  an'  sech  —  she  air  enough  ter  skeer 


232  The  Casting  Vote. 

any  man  away.  An'  Justus  knows  jes'  what 
sech  laziness  means.  Kin  mend  clothes  hisse'f 
ez  good  ez  the  nex'  one,  an'  useter  do  it  too, 
strong  an'  taut,  with  a  double  thread,  whenst 
the  fambly  war  leetle  chil'n  an'  gin  ter  bustin' 
out'n  thar  gear." 

But  Justus  took  no  note  of  the  significance  of 
the  torn  sleeve. 

"  Why,  'Dosia,"  he  went  on,  "  everybody 
'lowed  ez  Wat's  speeches  seemed  ter  sense  what 
the  people  wanted  ter  hear.  Him  an'  me  we  'd 
talk  it  over  the  night  before,  an'  Wat  he  'd  write 
down  what  we  said  on  paper  an'  mem'rize  it ; 
an'  the  nex'  day,  why,  folks  that  would  n't  hev 
nuthin'  ter  say  ter  him  afore  he  spoke  would  be 
jes'  aidgin'  up  through  the  crowd  ter  git  ter  shake 
han's  with  him." 

She  smiled  with  delight  at  the  picture.  If  it 
were  sweet  to  him  to  praise,  how  sweet  it  was 
to  her  to  listen !  "  Tell  on  !  "  she  said  softly. 

Her  interest  flattered  him ;  it  enriched  the 
reminiscence,  dear  though  his  memory  held  it. 
He  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  unity  of  feeling 
with  which  they  both  regarded  the  incidents  he 
chronicled.  He  went  on  with  the  certainty  of 
responsive  sentiment,  the  ease,  the  serenity  of 
a  man  who  opens  his  heart  to  the  woman  he 
loves. 

"  Why,  'Dosia,"  he  said,  "  often,  often  if  it 


The  Casting  Vote.  233 

bed  n't  been  fur  the  folks,  I  could  hev  run  up 
an'  dragged  him  ofFn  the  rostrum  an'  hugged 
him  fur  pride,  he  looked  so  han'some  an'  spoke 
so  peart !  An'  ter  think  't  war  jes'  our  leetle 
Wat  —  the  Fambly's  leetle  Wat  —  growed  up 
ter  be  sech  a  man !  Ye  '11  laff  at  me  —  other 
folks  did  —  whenst  I  tell  ye  that  ag'in  an' 
ag'iii  I  jes'  cotch'  myse'f  cheerin'  with  the 
loudest.  I  could  n't  holp  it." 

"  He  '11  be  'lected,  Justus  ?  "  she  breathlessly 
inquired,  and  yet  imperatively,  as  if,  even  though 
she  asked,  she  would  brook  no  denial. 

"  Oh,  they  all  say  thar  's  no  doubt — no  doubt 
at  all." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  of  contentment,  of 
pleasure.  She  leaned  back,  silent  and  reflective, 
against  the  rail  fence  behind  the  bench,  her  eyes 
fixed,  absorbed,  following  the  outline  of  other 
scenes  than  the  one  before  them,  which  indeed 
left  no  impression  upon  her  senses,  scenes  to 
come,  slowly  shaping  the  future.  All  trace  of 
the  red  glow  of  the  sun  had  departed  from  the 
landscape.  No  heavy,  light-absorbing,  sad-hued 
tapestries  could  wear  so  deep  a  purple,  such 
sombre  suggestions  of  green,  as  the  circling 
mountains  had  now  assumed:  they  were  not 
black,  and  yet  such  depths  of  darkness  hardly 
comported  with  the  idea  of  color.  The  neutral 
tints  of  the  sky  were  graded  more  definitely, 


234  The  Casting  Vote. 

with  purer  transparency,  because  of  the  contrast. 
The  fine  grays  were  akin  to  pearl  color,  to  laven- 
der, even,  in  approaching  the  zenith,  to  the 
palest  of  blue  —  so  pale  that  the  white  glitter  of 
a  star  alternately  appeared  and  was  lost  again  in 
its  tranquil  inexpressiveness.  The  river  seemed 
suddenly  awake  ;  its  voice  was  lifted  loud  upon 
the  evening  air,  a  rhythmic  song  without  words. 
The  frogs  chanted  by  the  waterside.  Fireflies 
here  and  there  quivered  palely  over  the  flat 
cornfields  at  the  back  of  the  house.  There 
was  a  light  within,  dully  showing  through  the 
vines  at  the  window. 

"  An'  then,  'Dosia,"  said  Justus  softly, "  when 
the  'lection  is  over,  it 's  time  fur  ye  an'  me  ter 
git  married." 

She  roused  herself  with  an  obvious  effort,  and 
looked  uncomprehendingly  at  him  for  a  moment, 
as  if  she  hardly  heard. 

"  The  las'  one  o'  Fambly  will  be  off  my  han's 
then.  Fambly  will  hev  been  pervided  fur  — 
every  one,  Wat  an'  all.  I  hev  done  my  bes' 
fur  Fambly,  an'  I  dunno  but  I  hev  earned  the 
right  ter  think  some  fur  myse'f  now." 

He  would  not  perhaps  have  arrogated  so  much, 
except  to  the  woman  by  whom  he  believed  him- 
self beloved.  She  said  nothing,  and  he  went  on 
slowly,  lingering  upon  the  words  as  if  he  loved 
the  prospect  they  conjured  up. 


The  Casting  Vote.  235 

"We-uns  will  Lev  the  gyardin  an'  orchard, 
an'  pastur'  an'  woods-lot  an'  fields,  ter  tend  ter, 
an'  the  cows  an'  bees,  an'  the  mare  an'  filly, 
an'  peegs  an'  poultry,  ter  look  arter.  An'  the 
house  air  all  tight,  the  roof  an'  all  in  good  re- 
pair, an'  we-uns  will  have  it  all  ter  ourselves." 

She  turned  upon  him  with  sudden  interest. 

"What  will  kern  o'  Wat?" 

"  Oh,  he  mus'  live  in  town  whilst  sher'ff, 
bein'  off'cer  o'  the  court  an'  official  keeper  o' 
jail,  though  he  kin  app'int  a  jailer." 

"  Live  in  Colbury !  "  she  exclaimed  in  won- 
derment. 

Justus  laughed  in  triumph.  "  Oh,  I  tell  ye, 
Wat  's  'way  up  in  the  pictur's  !  He  '11  be  a 
reg'lar  town  man  'fore  long,  I  reckon,  dandified 
an'  sniptious  ez  the  nex'  one,  marryin'  one  o' 
them  finified  town  gals  ez  wear  straw  hats  stid- 
dier  sunbonnets,  —  though  they  do  look  ter  be 
about  ez  flimsy  an'  no-'count  cattle  ez  any  I  ever 
see,"  the  sterling  rural  standpoint  modifying  his 
relish  of  Walter's  frivolous  worldly  opportuni- 
ties. 

She  tossed  her  head  in  defiance  of  some  sud- 
den unspoken  thought.  As  she  lifted  her  eyes, 
fired  by  pride,  she  saw  the  comet  all  a-glitter  in 
the  darkening  sky. 

She  hardly  knew  that  he  had  seized  her  hand ; 
but  his  importunity  must  be  answered. 


236  The  Casting  Vote. 

"  D'rec'ly  after  the  'lection  —  'lection  day, 
'Dosia  ?  "  he  urged. 

"  Ain't  ye  got  no  jedgmint,"  she  temporized, 
laughing  unmirthfully,  "  axin'  sech  a  question 
ez  that  under  that  onlucky  comet !  " 

"  I  hev  been  waitin'  so  long,  'Dosia !  " 

It  was  the  first  suggestion  of  complaint  she 
had  ever  heard  from  him. 

"  Then  ye  air  used  ter  waitin',  an'  't  won't 
kill  ye  ter  wait  a  leetle  longer.  I  '11  let  ye  know 
'lection  day." 

II. 

It  was  a  hot  day  in  the  little  valley  town, 
the  first  Thursday  in  August,  the  climax  of  a 
drought,  with  the  sun  blazing  down  from  dawn 
to  dusk,  and  not  a  cloud,  not  a  vagrant  mist,  not 
even  the  stir  of  the  impalpable  ether,  to  interpose. 
The  mountains  that  rimmed  the  horizon  all 
around  Colbury  shimmered  azure,  through  the 
heated  air.  No  wind  came  down  those  darker 
indentations  that  marked  ravines.  A  dazzling, 
stifling  stillness  reigned  ;  yet  now  and  again  an 
eddying  cloud  of  dust  would  spring  up  along 
the  streets,  and  go  whirling  up-hill  and  down, 
pausing  suddenly,  and  settling  upon  the  over- 
grown shrubbery  in  the  pretty  village  yards,  or 
on  white  curtains  hanging  motionless  at  the  win- 
dows of  large,  old-fashioned  frame  houses.  Even 


The  Casting  Vote.  237 

the  shade  was  hot  with  a  sort  of  closeness  un- 
known in  the  open  air,  yet  as  it  dwindled  to 
noontide  proportions  some  alleviation  seemed 
withdrawn  ;  and  though  the  mercury  marked  no 
change,  all  the  senses  welcomed  the  post-me- 
ridian lengthening  of  the  images  of  bough  and 
bole  beneath  the  trees,  and  the  fantastic  archi- 
tecture of  the  shadows  of  chimney  and  gable 
and  dormer-window,  elongated  out  of  drawing, 
stretching  across  the  grassy  streets  and  ample 
gardens.  There  among  the  grape  trellises,  and 
raspberry  bushes,  and  peach  and  cherry  trees, 
the  locusts  chirred  and  chirred  a  tireless,  vibra- 
ting panegyric  on  hot  weather.  The  birds  were 
hushed ;  sometimes  under  a  clump  of  matted 
leaves  one  of  the  feathered  gentry  might  be  seen 
with  wings  well  held  out  from  his  panting  sides. 
The  beautiful  green  beetle,  here  called  the 
"  June-bug,"  hovered  about  the  beds  of  thyme, 
its  jeweled,  enameled  green  body  and  its  silver 
gauze  wings  flashing  in  the  sun,  although  June 
was  far  down  the  revolving  year.  Blue  and 
lilac  lizards  basked  in  the  garden  walks,  which 
were  cracked  by  the  heat.  Little  stir  was  in  the 
streets  ;  the  languid  business  of  a  small  town 
was  transacted  if  absolute  need  required,  and 
postponed  if  a  morrow  would  admit  of  contem- 
plation. The  voters  slowly  repaired  to  the  polls 
with  a  sense  of  martyrdom  in  the  cause  of  party, 


238  The  Casting  Vote. 

and  the  election  was  passing  off  in  a  most 
orderly  fashion,  there  being  no  residuum  of  en- 
ergy in  the  baking  town  to  render  it  disorderly 
or  unseemly.  Often  not  a  human  being  was  to 
be  seen,  coming  or  going. 

To  Theodosia  it  was  all  vastly  different  from 
the  picture  she  had  projected  of  Colbury  with 
an  election  in  progress.  In  interest,  movement, 
populousness,  it  did  not  compare  with  a  county- 
court  day,  which  her  imagination  had  multiplied 
when  she  estimated  the  relative  importance  of 
the  events.  She  had  made  no  allowance  for  the 
absence  of  the  country  people,  specially  wont  to 
visit  the  town  when  the  quarterly  court  was  in 
session,  but  now  all  dutifully  in  place  voting  in 
their  own  remote  districts.  The  dust,  the  suffo- 
cating heat,  the  stale,  vapid  air,  the  indescriba- 
ble sense  of  a  lower  level  —  all  these  affected 
her  like  a  veritable  burden,  accustomed  as  she 
was  to  the  light  and  rare  mountain  breeze,  to 
the  tempered  sun,  the  mist,  and  the  cloud.  The 
new  and  untried  conditions  of  town  life  tram- 
meled and  constrained  her.  She  had  a  certain 
pride,  and  she  feared  she  continually  offended 
against  the  canons  of  metropolitan  taste.  In 
every  passing  face  she  saw  surprise,  and  she  fan- 
cied contempt.  In  every  casual  laugh  she  heard 
ridicule.  Her  brain  was  a  turmoil  of  conflicting 
anxieties,  hopes,  resolutions,  and  in  addition 


The,  Casting  Vote.  239 

these  external  demands  upon  her  attention 
served  to  intensify  her  absorbing  emotions  and 
to  irritate  her  nerves  rather  than  to  divert  or 
soothe  them.  She  had  escaped  from  the  relative 
at  whose  house  she  was  making  a  visit,  craftily 
timed  to  include  election  day,  on  the  plea  that 
she  wished  to  see  something  of  the  town.  "  Ye 
don't  live  up  on  the  mounting,  Cousin  Anice, 
'niongst  the  deer,  an'  b'ar,  an'  fox,  like  me," 
she  had  said  jestingly,  "  or  ye  'd  want  ter  view 
all  the  town  ye  kin."  And  once  outside  the 
shabby  little  palings,  she  returned  no  more  for 
hours. 

Along  the  scorching  streets  she  wandered, 
debating  within  herself  anxious  questions  which, 
she  felt,  affected  all  her  future,  and  unfitting 
herself  still  further  to  reach  that  just  and  wise 
conclusion  she  desired  to  compass.  She  could 
not  altogether  abstract  her  mind,  despite  the 
interests  which  she  had  at  stake.  She  no- 
ticed that  her  unaccustomed  feet  stumbled  over 
the  flag-stones  of  the  pavement  —  "  Fit  fur  no- 
thin'  but  followin'  the  plough  !  "  she  muttered  in 
irritation.  She  hesitated  at  the  door  of  a  store, 
then  sidled  sheepishly  in,  tearing  her  dress  on  a 
nail  in  a  barrel  set  well  in  the  corner  and  out  of 
the  way. 

But  while  looking  over  the  pile  of  goods  which 
she  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  money  to  pur- 


240  The  Casting  Vote. 

chase,  she  could  have  sunk  with  shame  with  the 
sudden  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  not  the 
vogue  in  Colbury  to  keep  a  clerk  actively  afoot 
to  while  away  the  idle  time  of  a  desperately  idle 
woman.  She  could  not  at  once  decide  how  she 
might  best  extricate  herself,  and  for  considera- 
ble time  the  empty  show  of  an  impending  pur- 
chase went  on. 

"  I  '11  —  I  '11  kem  an'  see  'bout'n  it  ter-morrer," 
she  faltered  at  last.  "  Much  obleeged." 

"  No  trouble  to  show  goods,"  said  the  martyr 
of  the  counter,  politely.  In  truth  he  had  in  the 
course  of  his  career  shown  them  as  futilely  to 
women  who  were  much  older  and  far,  far  uglier, 
and  contemplating  purchase  as  remotely. 

She  went  out  scarlet,  slow,  tremulous,  and 
walking  close  into  the  wall  like  an  apprehensive 
cat,  looking  now  and  again  over  her  shoulder. 
She  wondered  if  he  laughed  when  he  was  alone. 

Her  shadow  was  long  now  as  it  preceded  her 
down  the  street,  lank,  awkward,  clumsy.  She 
took  note  of  the  late  hour  which  it  intimated, 
and  followed  the  extravagant,  lurching  caricature 
of  herself  to  her  cousin's  house,  a  little  un- 
painted,  humble  building  set  far  back  in  the 
yard,  against  the  good  time  coming  when  a 
more  ornate  structure  should  be  prefixed.  The 
good  time  seemed  still  a  long  way  off.  Her 
cousin's  ironing-board  was  on  the  porch,  and 


The  Casting  Vote.  241 

presently  a  lean,  elderly,  active  woman  whisked 
out,  her  flat-iron  in  her  hand. 

"  Cousin  Anice,"  called  Theodosia  from  the 
gate,  "  how  's  the  'lection  turned  out  ?  " 

Cousin  Anice  paused  to  put  her  finger  in  her 
mouth ;  thus  moistened,  she  touched  it  to  the 
flat-iron,  which  hissed  smartly,  and  which  she 
applied  then  to  the  apron  on  the  board. 

"  Laws-a-massy !  chile,  the  polls  is  jes'  closed, 
an'  all  the  country  deestric's  ter  be  hearn  from. 
We  won't  know  till  ter-morrer  —  till  late  ter- 
night,  nohow." 

Theodosia  leaned  against  the  gate.  How 
could  she  wait!  How  could  she  endure  the 
suspense !  She  thought  of  Justus,  and  of  her 
promise  to  fix  the  date  of  the  wedding  on  elec- 
tion day,  but  only  as  an  additional  factor  of 
trouble  in  her  own  anxiety  and  indecision. 

"  Wat 's  been  hyar  ez  cross  ez  two  sticks," 
said  Mrs.  Elmer.  She  paused  to  hold  up  the 
apron,  exquisitely  white,  and  sheer,  and  stiff, 
and  to  gaze  with  critical  professional  eyes  upon 
it;  she  was  what  is  known  as  a  "beautiful 
washer  and  ironer,"  although  otherwise  not 
comely.  "  Wat's  beat  plumb  out  o'  sight,  ef 
the  truth  war  knowed,  I  reckon.  He  'lows  he 's 
powerful  'feared.  Ef  't  war  Justus,  now,  he  Jd 
hev  been  'lected  sure.  Justus  is  a  mighty 
s'perior  man  ;  pity  he  never  hed  no  eddication. 


242  The  Casting  Vote. 

He  could  hev  done  anything  —  sharp  ez  a  brier. 
Yes ;  Wat 's  beat,  I  reckon." 

In  the  instant  Theodosia's  heart  sank.  But 
she  turned  from  the  palings,  and  sauntered  res- 
olutely on.  It  well  behooved  her  to  take  coun- 
sel with  herself.  "  I  mought  hev  made  a  turr'- 
ble,  turr'ble  mistake,"  she  muttered.  She  was 
sensible  of  a  sharp  pang  pervading  her  con- 
sciousness. Nevertheless,  judgment  clamored 
for  recognition. 

"  Everybody  gins  Justus  a  good  name,  bet- 
ter 'n  Wat,"  she  argued.  "  An'  ef  Wat  ain't 
'lected  "  — 

She  walked  down  the  street  with  a  freer  step, 
her  head  lifted,  her  self-respect  more  secure. 
With  the  possible  collapse  of  her  prospect  of 
living  in  Colbury,  and  her  ambition  to  adjust  her- 
self to  the  exigent  demands  of  its  more  ornate 
civilization,  her  natural  untrained  grace  was  re- 
turning to  her.  She  felt  that  she  was  certainly 
stylish  enough  for  the  hills,  where  she  was 
likely  to  live  all  her  days,  and  with  this  reali- 
zation she  quite  unconsciously  seemed  easy 
enough,  unconstrained  enough,  graceful  enough, 
to  pass  muster  in  a  wider  sphere.  Her  heart 
was  beating  placidly  now  with  the  casting  away 
of  this  new  expectation  that  had  made  all  its 
pulses  tense.  The  still  air  was  cooler,  or  at  least 
darker.  A  roseate  suffusion  was  in  the  sky, 


The  Casting  Vote.  243 

although  a  star  twinkled  there.  More  people 
were  in  the  streets  ;  doors  and  windows  were 
open,  and  faces  appeared  now  and  again  among 
the  vines  and  curtains.  As  she  hesitated  on  the 
street  corner,  two  young  girls  in  white  dresses 
and  with  fair  hair  passed  her.  She  watched 
them  with  darkening  brow  as  they  drew  hastily 
together,  and  suddenly  she  overheard  the  half- 
smothered  exclamation  which  had  a  dozen  times 
to-day  barely  escaped  her  ears. 

"  What  a  pretty,  pretty  girl !  Oh,  my !  how 
pretty,  how  pretty  !  " 

Theodosia  stood  like  one  bewitched ;  a  light 
like  the  illumination  of  jewels  was  in  her  sap- 
phire eyes  ;  the  color  surged  to  her  cheek ;  she 
lifted  up  her  head  on  its  round,  white  throat; 
her  lips  curved.  "  Oh,  poor  fool !  "  she  thought 
in  pity  for  herself,  for  this  was  what  the  Colbury 
people  had  been  saying  all  day  in  their  swift, 
recurrent  glances,  their  half -masked  asides,  their 
furtive  turning  to  look  after  her.  And  she  — 
to  have  given  herself  a  day  of  such  keen  misery 
unconscious  of  their  covert  encomiums  ! 

"  I  live  up  thar  in  the  wilderness  till  I  jes' 
don't  sense  nothin',"  she  said. 

All  the  wilting  prospects  of  life  were  refreshed 
as  a  flower  in  the  perfumed  dew-fall.  She  felt 
competent,  able  to  cope  with  them  all ;  her  re- 
stored self-confidence  pervaded  her  whole  entity, 


244  The  Casting  Vote. 

spiritual  and  material.  She  walked  back  with 
an  elastic  step,  a  breezy,  debonair  manner,  and 
she  met  Justus  Hoxou  at  the  gate  of  her  cousin's 
yard  with  a  jaunty  assurance,  and  with  all  the 
charm  of  her  rich  beauty  in  the  ascendant. 

He  would  fain  have  detained  her  in  the  twi- 
light. "What's  that  ye  promised  to  tell  me 
'lection  day  ?  " 

"  I  'lowed  the  day  Wat  war  'lected,"  she  tem- 
porized, laying  her  hand  on  the  gate,  which  his 
stronger  hand  kept  still  closed. 

"  Waal,  this  is  the  day  Wat  is  'lected." 

She  drew  back.  Even  in  the  dim  light  he 
could  see  her  blue  eyes  widening  with  inquiry 
as  she  looked  at  him. 

"  I  'lowed  the  returns  war  n't  all  in,"  she  said 
doubtfully. 

"  They  ain't,  but  enough  hev  kern  in  sence  the 
polls  closed  ter  gin  him  a  thumpin'  majority. 
He 's  safe."  The  tense  ring  of  triumph  was  in 
his  voice. 

The  scene  was  swimming  before  her ;  she  was 
dazed  by  the  sudden  alternations  of  hope  and 
despair,  of  decision  and  counter-decision,  by  the 
seeming  instability  of  all  this.  Once  more  she 
thought,  in  a  tremble,  and  with  a  difference,  of 
the  mistake  she  might  have  made.  She  held  to 
the  gate  to  keep  her  feet,  no  longer  to  open  it. 

"What   did  ye  promise  ter  tell  me  'lection 


The  Casting  Vote.  245 

day  ? "  he  demanded  once  more,  clasping  her 
hand  as  it  lay  on  the  palings. 

"  'Lection  day  ?  "  she  said  with  a  forced  laugh 
— "  't  ain't  e-ended  yit.  An',"  with  a  sudden 
resolution  of  effecting  a  diversion  —  "  afore  it  is 
e-ended  I  want  ter  git  a  peep  through  that  thar 
thing  they  call  a  tellingscope,  ef  they  let  women 
folks  look  through  it." 

He  was  instantly  intent. 

"  Laws-a-massy,  yes !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
seen  Mis'  Dr.  Kane  and  Mis'  Jedge  Peters,  an' 
thar  darters,  an'  a  whole  passel  o'  women  folks 
over  thar  one  night  las'  week.  The  young  folks 
jes'  amble  up  an'  down  the  court-house  yard, 
bein'  moonlight,  like  a  lot  o'  young  colts  showin' 
thar  paces.  An*  even  ef  they  ain't  thar  ter-night, 
I'll  take  ye  over  thar  arter  supper,  with  yer 
cousin  Anice  ter  keep  ye  in  countenance." 

But  after  supper  *there  was  a  sufficiency  of 
fluttering  white  dresses  astir  in  the  court-house 
yard,  and  now  and  again  crossing  the  wide,  ill- 
paved  street  thither,  to  warrant  Theodosia  in 
dispensing  with  her  cousin's  company,  much  to 
that  sophisticated  worthy's  relief. 

"  I  hev  seen  all  Colbury  's  got  ter  show,"  she 
said  with  sated  pride.  "  An'  bein'  ez  I  hev  hed 
a  hard  day's  ironin',  I  hev  got  a  stitch  in  my 
side." 

"  I  'd  onderstan'  that  better  if  ye  hed  hed  a 


246  The  Casting  Vote. 

hard  day's  sewin',"  said  Justus.  He  was  in 
high  feather,  eager,  jubilant,  drinking  in  all  the 
rich  and  subtle  flavors  of  success  with  the  gusto 
of  personal  triumph. 

"He  air  prouder 'n  Wat,"  more  than  one 
observer  opined. 

There  was  another  fine  exhibition  of  pride  on 
display  in  the  court-house  yard  that  evening. 
One  might  have  inferred  that  Dr.  Kane  had 
made  the  comet,  from  his  satisfaction  in  its  pro- 
portions, his  accurate  knowledge  and  exposition 
of  its  history,  its  previous  appearances,  and  when 
its  coming  again  might  be  expected.  He  was 
the  principal  physician  of  the  place,  and  the 
little  telescope  was  his  property,  and  he  had 
thus  generously  loaned  it  to  the  public  with  the 
hope  of  illuminating  the  general  ignorance  by  a 
nearer  view  of  the  starry  heavens,  while  it  served 
his  own  and  his  neighbors'  interest  in  the  nightly 
progress  of  the  great  comet.  Total  destruction 
had  been  prophesied  as  the  imminent  fate  of 
the  telescope,  but  it  had  so  far  justified  its  own- 
er's confidence  in  the  promiscuous  politeness  of 
Kildeer  County,  and  had  been  a  source  of  infi- 
nite pleasure  to  the  country  folks  from  the  coves 
and  mountains,  who  had  never  before  seen,  nor 
in  good  sooth  heard  of,  such  an  instrument. 
For  weeks  past  almost  all  night  curious  groups 
took  possession  of  it  at  intervals,  and  doubtless 


The  Casting  Vote.  247 

it  did  much  to  enlarge  their  idea  of  science  and 
knowledge  of  celestial  phenomena,  for  often  Dr. 
Kane's  idle  humor  induced  him  to  stand  by  and 
explain  the  various  theories  touching  comets,  — 
their  velocity,  their  substance  or  lack  of  sub- 
stance, their  recurrence,  their  status  in  the  astral 
economy,  —  and  cognate  themes.  As  he  was  a 
man  of  very  considerable  reading  and  mental 
qualifications,  of  some  means  for  the  indulgence 
of  his  taste,  and  a  good  deal  of  leisure,  the 
synopsis  of  astronomical  science  presented  in 
the  successive  expositions  was  very  well  worth 
listening  to,  especially  by  the  more  ignorant  of 
the  community,  who  were  thus  enlightened  as  to 
facts  hitherto  foreign  even  to  their  wildest  imag- 
inings. 

But  following  hard  on  every  benefaction  is 
the  trail  of  ingratitude,  and  certain  of  the  irrev- 
erent in  the  crowd  found  a  piquant  zest  in  secret 
derision  of  the  doctor,  who  sometimes  did,  in 
truth,  present  the  air  of  a  showman  with  a  pan- 
orama. More  especially  was  this  the  case  when 
his  enthusiasm  waxed  high,  and  his  satisfaction 
in  the  glories  of  the  comet  partook  of  a  positive 
personal  pride. 

"  What 's  he  goin'  ter  do  about  it  ?  "  demanded 
one  grinning  rustic  of  another  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  crowd. 

"  Put  salt  on  its  tail,"  responded  his  interloc- 
utor. 


248  The  Casting  Vote. 

Others  affected  to  believe  that  the  doctor  was 
performing  a  great  feat  with  the  long  bow,  espe- 
cially in  the  tremendous  measurements  of  which 
he  seemed  singularly  prodigal.  A  reference  to 
the  height  of  the  mountains  of  the  moon  as 
compared  with  the  neighboring  ranges  elicited 
a  whispered  hope  that  the  roads  were  better 
there  than  those  of  the  Great  Smoky ;  and  an 
inquiry  concerning  the  probable  fate  of  the 
comet  provoked  a  speculation  that  when  he  was 
done  with  it  he  would  sell  it  at  public  outcry  to 
the  highest  bidder  at  the  east  door  of  the  court- 
house. 

Close  about  the  stand,  however,  the  crowd 
took  on  something  of  the  demeanor  of  a  literary 
society.  Discussions  were  in  order,  questions 
asked  and  answered,  authorities  quoted  and  re- 
futed :  the  other  physician,  who  practiced  much 
in  consultation  with  Dr.  Kane,  two  or  three  cler- 
gymen, several  of  the  officers  of  the  court,  and  a 
number  of  lawyers,  all  taking  part.  The  more 
youthful  members  of  the  gathering  affected  the 
role  of  peripatetic  philosophers,  and  sauntered  to 
and  fro,  arm  in  arm,  in  the  light  of  the  waxing 
moon. 

The  big  black  shadows  of  the  giant  oaks  were 
all  dappled  with  silver  as  the  beams  pierced  the 
foliage  and  fell  to  the  ground  below ;  only  the 
cornice  of  the  building  threw  an  unbroken  image, 


The  Casting  Vote.  249 

massive  and  sombre,  on  the  sward.  The  low 
clustering  roofs  of  the  town  had  a  thin  bluish 
haze  hovering  about  them,  and  were  all  softly 
and  blurringly  imposed  on  the  vaguely  blue  sky 
and  the  dim  hills  beyond.  Among  them  a  ver- 
tical silver  line  glinted,  sharply  metallic,  —  the 
steeple  of  a  church.  Here  and  there  a  yellow 
light  gleamed  from  a  lamp  within  a  window. 
No  sound  came  from  the  streets ;  all  the  life  of 
the  place  seemed  congregated  here. 

There  was  a  continual  succession  of  postulants 
to  gaze  through  the  telescope,  some  gravely  curi- 
ous, some  stolidly  iconoclastic  and  incredulous, 
others  with  covert  levity,  and  still  others,  self- 
conscious,  solicitous,  secretly  determined  to  affect 
to  see  all  that  other  people  could  see,  lest  some 
subtle  incapacity,  some  flagrant  rusticity,  be  in- 
ferred from  failure.  These  last  were  hasty 
observers,  scarcely  waiting  to  adjust  the  eye  to 
the  lens,  fluttered,  and  prolific  of  inapt  excla- 
mations, which  too  often  betrayed  the  superfi- 
cial character  of  the  investigation.  To  this  class 
did  Theodosia  belong. 

"  Plumb  beautiful ! "  she  murmured  under  her 
breath,  after  a  momentary  contact  of  her  daz- 
zled eye  with  the  brass  rim  of  the  telescope. 

"  Try  ag'in,  'Dosia  !  "  exclaimed  Justus,  aghast 
at  this  perfunctory  dismissal  of  the  comet,  as  she 
turned  to  go  away. 


250  The  Casting  Vote. 

She  winced  a  little  from  his  voice,  clear, 
vibrant  and  urgent,  for  Justus  had  no  solicitude 
concerning  the  superior  canons  of  Colbury  touch- 
ing etiquette,  and  suffered  none  of  her  anxieties. 
She  caught  Dr.  Kane's  eyes  fixed  upon  him  as 
she  moved  hastily  away,  and  then  he  came  up 
beside  Justus,  who  stood  near  the  telescope. 

"  Let  me  explain  the  thing  to  you,  Hoxon," 
he  said.  "  Try  a  peep  yourself." 

Justus  glanced  after  her.  Walter  had  joined 
her  —  not  so  soon,  however,  but  that  she  heard 
a  half-suppressed  criticism  on  her  lover  as  he 
turned  to  the  telescope  and  Dr.  Kane's  exposi- 
tion. 

"  Pity  he 's  got  no  education  —  smart  fellow, 
but  can't  even  read  and  write." 

"  Smart "  enough  to  be  an  apt  pupil.  The 
others  pressed  close  around,  listening  to  the 
measured  voice  of  the  physician  and  the  quick, 
pertinent  questions  of  the  star-gazer. 

It  is  as  an  open  scroll,  that  magnificent,  wonder- 
compelling  cult  of  the  skies,  not  the  sealed  book 
of  other  sciences.  Since  the  days  of  the  Chal- 
dean, all  men  of  receptive  soul  in  solitary  places, 
the  sailor,  the  shepherd,  the  hunter,  or  the 
hermit,  whether  of  the  wilderness  of  nature  or 
the  isolation  of  crowds,  have  read  there  of  the 
mystery  of  the  infinite,  of  the  order  and  symme- 
try of  the  plan  of  creation,  of  the  proof  of  the 


The  Casting  Vote.  251 

existence  of  a  God,  who  controls  the  sweet  influ- 
ences of  Pleiades  and  makes  strong  the  bands 
of  Orion.  The  unspeakable  thought,  the  unform- 
ulated  prayer,  the  poignant  sense  of  individual 
littleness,  of  atomic  unimportance,  in  the  midst 
of  the  vast  scheme  of  the  universe,  inform  every 
eye,  throb  in  every  breast,  whether  it  be  of  the 
savant,  with  all  the  appliances  of  invention  to 
bring  to  his  cheated  senses  the  illusion  of  a 
slightly  nearer  approach,  or  of  the  half-civilized 
llanero  of  the  tropic  solitudes,  whose  knowledge 
suffices  only  to  note  the  hour  by  the  bending  of 
the  great  Southern  Cross.  It  is  the  heritage  of 
all  alike. 

For  Justus  Hoxon,  who  had  followed  the  slow 
march  of  the  stars  through  many  a  year  in  the 
troubled  watches  of  the  night,  when  anxiety  and 
foreboding  could  make  no  covenant  with  sleep, 
there  was,  in  one  sense,  little  to  learn.  He 
knew  them  all  in  their  several  seasons,  the  time 
of  their  rising,  when  they  came  to  the  meridian, 
and  when  they  were  engulfed  in  the  west,  till 
with  another  year  they  sparkled  on  the  eastern 
rim  of  the  sky.  He  listened  to  Dr.  Kane's 
explanation  of  this  with  an  air  of  acceptance, 
but  he  hardly  heeded  the  detail  of  their  distance 
from  the  earth  and  from  one  another  —  he  knew 
that  they  were  far,  —  and  he  shook  his  head 
over  speculations  as  to  their  physical  condition, 


252  The  Casting  Vote. 

vegetation,  and  inhabitation.  "  Ye  ain't  got  no 
sort  o'  means  o'  knowin'  sech,  Doctor,"  he  said 
reprehensively,  gauging  the  depths  of  the  igno- 
rance of  the  wise  man. 

He  heard  their  names  with  alert  interest,  and 
repeated  them  swiftly  after  his  mentor  to  set 
them  in  his  memory.  "  By  George  !  "  he  cried 
delightedly,  "  I  hed  no  idee  they  hed  names !  " 

And  as  the  amateur  astronomer,  pleased  with 
so  responsive  a  glow,  began  the  tracing  of  the 
fantastic  imagery  of  the  constellations,  detailing 
the  story  of  each  vague  similitude,  he  marked 
the  sudden  dawn  of  a  certain  enchantment  in  his 
interlocutor's  mind,  the  first  subtle  experience 
of  the  delights  of  the  ideal  and  the  resources  of 
fable.  It  exerted  upon  Dr.  Kane  a  sort  of  fasci- 
nated interest,  the  observation  of  this  earliest 
exploration  of  the  realms  of  fancy  by  so  keen 
and  receptive  an  intelligence.  The  comet,  the 
telescope,  the  crowd,  were  forgotten,  as  with 
Hoxon  at  his  elbow  he  made  the  tour  of  the 
court-house  yard,  from  point  to  point,  wherever 
the  best  observation  might  be  had  of  each  sepa- 
rate sidereal  etching  on  the  deep  blue.  For  a 
time  the  crowd  casually  watched  them  with  a 
certain  good-natured  ridicule  of  their  absorp- 
tion, and  the  telescope  maintained  its  interest 
to  the  successive  wights  who  peered  through  at 
the  comet  still  splendidly  ablaze  despite  the 


The  Casting  Vote.  253 

light  of  the  gibbous  moon.  The  ranks  of 
young  people  promenaded  up  and  down  the 
brick  walks  and  the  grassy  spaces.  Elder 
gossips  sat  on  the  court-house  steps,  or  stood  in 
groups,  and  discussed  the  questions  of  the  day. 
Gradually  disintegration  began.  The  clangor 
of  the  gate  rose  now  and  then  as  homeward- 
bound  parties  passed  through,  becoming  con- 
stantly more  frequent.  Still  the  shifting  back 
and  forth  of  the  thinning  ranks  of  the  peripa- 
tetic youth  went  on,  and  laughter  and  talk  re- 
sounded from  the  court-house  steps.  At  inter- 
vals the  telescope  was  deserted  ;  the  motionless 
trees  were  bright  with  the  moon  and  glossy  with 
the  dew.  The  voice  of  guard-dogs  was  now  and 
again  reverberated  from  the  hills.  The  languid 
sense  of  a  late  hour  had  dulled  the  pulses,  and 
when  Justus  Hoxon  turned  back  to  earth  it  was 
to  an  almost  depopulated  scene,  the  realization 
of  the  approach  of  midnight,  and  the  sight  of 
Theodosia  sitting  alone  in  the  moonlight  on  the 
steps  of  the  east  door  of  the  court-house,  wait- 
ing for  him  with  a  touching  patience,  as  it  seemed 
to  him  at  the  moment. 

"Air  you-uns  waitin'  fur  me,  'Dosia,  all  by 
yerse'f  ?  "  he  demanded  hastily,  with  a  contrite 
intonation. 

"  I  'pear  to  be  all  by  myse'f,"  she  said,  with 
a  playful  feigning  of  uncertainty,  glancing  about 


254  The  Casting  Vote. 

her.  She  gave  a  forced  laugh,  and  the  con- 
straint in  her  tone  struck  his  attention. 

"  I  'lowed  ez  Wat  war  with  ye,"  he  said  apolo- 
getically. "  Air  ye  ready  ter  go  over  ter  yer 
cousin  Anice's  now  ?  " 

He  was  standing  leaning  against  one  of  the 
columns  of  the  portico,  his  face  half  in  the 
shadow  of  his  hat  and  half  in  the  moonlight. 

She  sat  still  upon  the  steps,  looking  up  at 
him,  her  upturned  eyes  taking  an  appealing  ex- 
pression from  her  lowly  attitude.  She  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  at  a  loss.  Then  sud- 
denly her  eyes  fell. 

"  'Pears  ter  me  ter  be  right  comical  ter  hev 
ter  remind  ye  o'  what  /  promised  ter  tell  ye 
'lection  day,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  'Dosia,"  he  broke  in  vehemently,  "  I 
hev  axed  ye  twice  ter-day,  an'  I  did  n't  ax  ye  jes' 
now  'kase  ye  hed  been  hyar  so  long  alone,  an'  I 
wanted  ter  take  ye  ter  yer  cousin  Anice's  ef  so 
be  ye  wanted  ter  go."  He  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  with  a  change  of  tone,  "  Ye  can't 
make  out  ez  I  hev  been  anything  but  hearty  in 
lovin'  ye  —  nearly  all  yer  life  long !  "  His  voice 
rang  out  with  a  definite  note  of  conviction,  of 
assertion. 

Reproach  was  an  untenable  ground.  She 
desisted  from  the  effort.  Her  eyes  wandered 
down  the  street  that  lay  shadowy  with  gable, 


The  Casting  Vote.  255 

and  dormer-window,  and  long  chimneys,  in  sharp 
geometric  figures  in  the  moonshine,  alternating 
with  the  deeper  shadow  of  the  trees.  There 
were  no  lights  save  a  twinkle  here  and  there  in 
an  upper  window. 

A  flush  rose  to  his  pale  cheeks.  His  heart 
was  beating  fast  with  heavy  presage.  He  hesi- 
tated to  demand  his  fate  at  so  untoward  a  mo- 
ment. He  took  off  his  hat,  mechanically  fan- 
ning with  its  broad  brim,  and  gazing  about  him 
at  the  slowly  dulling  splendor  of  the  moonlight 
as  the  disk  tended  further  and  further  toward 
the  west.  The  stars  were  brightening  gradually, 
and  within  the  range  of  his  vision  flared  the 
great  comet,  every  moment  the  lustre  of  its  white 
fire  intensifying.  He  only  saw;  he  did  not 
note.  His  every  faculty  was  concentrated  on  the 
girl's  drawling  voice  as  she  began  again,  hesitat- 
ing, and  evidently  at  a  loss. 

"  Waal,  I  hate  ter  tell  ye,  Justus,  but  I  hev 
ter  do  it,  an'  I  mought  ez  well  the  day  that  I 
promised  ter  set  the  day.  It 's  —  it 's  —  never  ! 
I  ain't  goin'  ter  marry  ye  at  all !" 

He  recoiled  as  from  a  blow.  And  yet  he 
could  not  accept  the  fact. 

"  The'dosia,"  he  said,  "  air  ye  mad  with  me 
'kase  ye  'low  I  forgot  ye  this  evenin'  ?  " 

Theodosia  had  recovered  her  poise.  Now  that 
she  had  begun  she  felt  suddenly  fluent.  It  did 


256  The  Casting  Vote. 

not  accord  with  her  estimate  of  her  own  attrac- 
tions to  dismiss  a  lover  because  he  had  forgotten 
her.  She  began  to  find  a  relish  in  the  situation, 
and  sought  to  adjust  its  details  more  accurately 
to  her  preferences. 

"  Justus,  I  know  ye  never  furgot  me  fur  one 
minute.  I  kin  find  no  fault  with  yer  likin'  fur 
me." 

She  had  never  seen  a  stage.  She  had  never 
heard  of  a  theatre,  but  she  was  posing  and  play- 
ing a  part  as  definitely  as  if  it  graced  the  boards. 

He  detected  a  certain  spurious  note  in  her 
voice.  It  bewildered  him.  He  stared  silently 
at  her. 

"  I  can't  marry  you-uns.     I  never  kin." 

"Why?"  he  demanded  in  a  measured  tone. 
"  How  kem  ye  hev  changed  yer  mind  ?  Ye  hev 
told  me  often  that  ye  would." 

"  W-a-al,"  she  drawled,  looking  away  at  the 
skies,  her  unthinking  eyes  arrested,  too,  by  the 
blazing  comet,  "  I  did  'low  wunst  I  would.  But 
a  man  with  eddication  would  suit  me  bes',  an' 
ye  hain't  got  none." 

"  No  more  hev  ye,"  he  argued  warmly.  He 
was  clinging  for  dear  life  to  his  vanishing  hope 
of  happiness.  He  did  not  realize  depreciation 
in  his  words — only  the  facts  that  made  them 
suited  to  each  other.  "  Ye  know  ye  would  n't 
take  1'arnin'  at  school  —  an'  I  could  n't  git  it ; 
'pears  ter  me  we  air  'bout  ekal." 


The  Casting  Vote.  257 

"  It  air  a  differ  in  a  'oman,"  said  Theodosia, 
quickly.  "  A  'oman  hev  got  no  call  to  be  1'arned 
like  a  man." 

This  very  subordinate  view  failed  in  this  in- 
stance of  the  satisfaction  it  is  wont  to  give  to  the 
masculine  mind. 

"  Waal,  ye  did  n't  git  enough  1'arnin'  ter  hurt 
ye,"  he  retorted.  Then,  relenting,  he  added, 
"  But  I  don't  find  no  fault  with  ye  fur  that 
iiuther." 

The  color  flared  into  her  face.  How  she  re- 
sented his  clemency  to  her  ignorance !  She  still 
sat  in  her  lowly  posture  on  the  step,  leaning  her 
bare  head  against  the  column  of  the  porch,  for 
her  bonnet  lay  on  the  floor  beside  her  ;  but  there 
was  a  suggestion  of  self-assertion  in  her  voice. 

"  I  ain't  expectin'  ter  live  all  my  days  in  the 
woods,  like  a  deer  or  suthin'  wild.  I  expec'  ter 
live  in  town  with  eddicated  folks,  ez  be  looked 
up  ter,  an'  respected  by  all,  an'  kin  make  money, 
an'  hev  a  sure-enough  house."  Her  ambitious 
eyes  swept  the  shadowy  gables  down  the  street. 

He  broke  out  laughing ;  his  voice  was  softer ; 
his  face  relaxed. 

"  Laws-a-massy !  Dosia,"  he  exclaimed,  "  yer 
head's  plumb  turned  by  one  day's  roamin' 
round  town.  Ye  won't  be  in  sech  a  hurry 
ter  turn  me  off  whenst  we  git  back  ter  the 
mountings." 


258  The  Casting  Vote. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  back  ter  the  mountings !  "  she 
cried ;  "  I  be  a-goin'  ter  marry  a  town  man  ez 
hev  got  position,  an'  eddication,  an'  place." 
She  paused,  stung  by  the  fancied  incredulity 
in  his  eyes.  "  Why  not  ?  Ain't  I  good-lookin' 
enough  ?  " 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet ;  her  eyes  flashed 
upon  him;  her  beautiful  face  wore  a  look  of 
pride.  It  might  have  elicited  from  another 
man  a  protest  of  its  beauty.  He  stared  at  her 
with  an  expression  of  alarm  that  was  almost 
ghastly. 

"Other  men  like  me  fur  my  looks,  ef  ye 
don't,  Justus  Hoxon,"  she  said  in  indignation. 

"  Ef  they  jes'  likes  ye  fur  yer  looks  they 
won't  like  ye  long,"  Hoxon  said  severely.  "  I  '11 
like  ye  when  yer  brown  head  is  ez  white  ez 
cotton  —  ez  much  ez  I  like  ye  now  —  more !  — 
more,  I  '11  be  bound  !  O  'Dosia,"  with  a  sudden 
renewal  of  tenderness,  "  don't  talk  this  hyar 
cur'ous  way !  I  dunno  what 's  witched  ye. 
But  let 's  go  home  ter  the  mountings,  ter  yer 
mother,  an'  see  ef  she  can't  straighten  out  any 
tangle  yer  feelin's  hev  got  inter." 

It  needed  only  this  —  the  allusion  to  her 
commonplace  mother,  the  recollection  of  the 
forlorn  little  mountain  home,  the  idea  of  her  mo- 
ther's insistent  championship  of  Justus  Hoxon 
—  to  bring  the  avowal  so  long  trembling  on  her 
lips. 


The  Casting  Vote.  259 

"  I  won't !  I  ain't  likin'  ye  nowadays,  Justus 
Hoxon,  nor  fur  a  long  time  past.  I  ain't  keerin* 
nothin'  'bout  ye." 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  that  carried 
conviction. 

"  Air  ye  in  earnest  ?  "  he  said,  appalled. 

"  Dead  earnest." 

He  gazed  at  her  in  the  ever  dulling  light,  that 
yet  was  clear  enough  to  show  every  lineament 

—  even  the  long  black  eyelashes  that  did  not 
droop  or  quiver  above  her  great  blue  eyes. 

"Then  thar's  no  more  to  be  said."  He 
spoke  in  a  changed  voice,  calm  and  clear,  and 
she  stared  at  him  in  palpable  surprise.  She 
had  expected  an  outburst  of  reproach,  of  be- 
seechings,  of  protestation.  She  had  braced  her- 
self to  meet  it,  and  she  felt  the  reaction.  She 
was  hardly  capable  of  coping  with  seeming  in- 
difference. It  touched  her  pride.  She  missed 
the  tribute  of  the  withheld  pleadings.  She 
sought  to  rouse  his  jealousy. 

"  It 's  another  man  I  like,"  she  said,  "  better 

—  oh,  a  heap  better  —  than  you-uns." 
"  That 's  all  right,  then." 

He  wondered  to  hear  the  words  so  glibly  enun- 
ciated. His  lips  seemed  to  him  stiff,  petrifying. 
He  looked  very  white  about  them.  She  did  not 
heed.  She  was  angered,  wounded,  perplexed, 
by  his  acquiescence,  his  calmness,  his  taciturnity. 


260  The  Casting  Vote. 

A  wave  of  anxiety  that  was  half  regret  went 
over  her.  She  felt  lost  in  the  turmoil  of  these 
complex  emotions.  With  that  destructive  im- 
pluse  to  hurl  down,  to  tear,  to  strike,  that  is  an 
element  of  a  sort  of  blind  irritation,  she  went  on 
tumultuously : 

"  He  is  a  man  ez  hev  got  eddication,  an'  a 
place,  an'  a  fine  chance  an'  show  in  life  —  it 's 
—  it 's  —  yer  brother  Walter." 

Her  aim  was  true  that  time.  Her  shaft  struck 
in  the  very  core  of  his  heart :  but  the  satisfac- 
tion of  this  knowledge  was  denied  her.  He  looked 
very  white,  it  is  true,  but  the  pale  moonlight  was 
on  his  face ;  and  he  only  said  in  an  undertone : 

"Walter!" 

She  laughed  aloud,  a  sort  of  mockery  of  glee. 
She  had  expected  to  enjoy  the  revelation,  and 
her  laughter  was  an  incident  of  the  scene  as  she 
had  planned  it. 

"  We  war  a-courtin'  consider' ble  o'  the  time 
whilst  ye  war  off  electioneerin',''  she  said,  with 
the  side  glance  of  her  old  coquetry. 

She  saw  his  long  shadow  on  the  pavement 
bend  forward  and  recoil  suddenly.  She  did  not 
look  at  him. 

"An'  so   ter-night,"  she  went  on  briskly,— 
she  had  truly  thought  it  a  very  good  joke, — 
"  whilst  you-uns  war  a-star-gazing  an'  sech,  Wat 
an'  me  jes  stepped  inter  the  register's  office  thar, 


The  Casting  Vote.  261 

an'  the  Squair  married  us.  We  'lowed  ye  did  n't 
see  nothin'  of  it  through  the  tellingscope,  did 
ye  ?  So  Wat  said  I  must  tell  ye,  ez  he  did  n't 
want  ter  tell  ye." 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  the  light  was  dull- 
ing so,  and  he  had  replaced  his  wide  hat.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  his  voice  rang 
out  quite  strong  and  cheerful,  "  Why,  then 
thar  's  no  more  to  be  said." 

He  stood  motionless  an  instant  longer.  Then 
suddenly  he  turned  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  that 
was  like  a  gesture  of  farewell,  and  she  marked 
how  swiftly  his  shadow  seemed  to  slink  from  be- 
fore him  as  he  walked  away,  and  passed  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  and  disappeared  from  view. 

She  gazed  silently  after  him  for  a  moment. 
Then,  leaning  against  the  column,  she  burst  into 
a  tumult  of  tears. 

Daylight  found  Justus  Hoxon  far  on  the 
road  to  the  mountains.  In  the  many  miles,  as 
he  fared  along,  his  thoughts  could  hardly  have 
been  pleasant  company.  As  he  sought  to  dis- 
cover fault  or  flaw  in  himself,  search  as  he  might, 
he  could  find  naught  that  might  palliate  the  flip- 
pant faithlessness  of  his  beloved,  or  the  treach- 
ery of  his  brother.  His  ambition  might  have 
been  too  worldly  a  thing,  but  not  a  pulse  of  that 
most  vital  emotion  beat  for  himself.  He  realized 


262  The  Casting  Vote. 

it  now  —  he  realized  his  life  in  looking  back 
upon  this  completed  episode,  as  he  might  have 
done  in  the  hour  of  death.  He  had  so  expended 
himself  in  the  service  of  others  that  there  was 
naught  left  for  him.  He  had  no  gratulation  in 
it,  no  sense  of  the  virtue  of  unselfishness,  no 
preception  of  achievement;  it  only  seemed  to 
him  that  his  was  the  most  flagrant  folly  that 
ever  left  a  man  in  the  world,  but  with  no  place 
in  it.  A  sorry  object  for  pride  he  seemed  to 
himself,  but  he  quivered,  and  scorched,  and 
writhed  in  its  hot  flames.  His  one  object  was 
to  take  himself  out  of  the  sight  and  sound  of  Col- 
bury,  till  he  might  have  counsel  within  himself, 
and  perfect  his  scheme  of  revenge  —  not  upon 
the  woman.  Poor  Theodosia,  with  her  limita- 
tions, could  hardly  have  conceived  how  she  had 
shattered  the  ideal  to  which  her  image  had  con- 
formed in  his  mind,  as  she  had  stood  on  the  porch 
and  vaunted  her  beauty,  and  her  belief  in  its 
power,  and  her  pitiful  ambitions.  The  woman 
was  heartily  welcome  to  the  lot  she  had  chosen. 
But  the  treacherous  man,  —  it  was  not  in  Justus 
Hoxon's  scheme  of  things  to  receive  a  blow  and 
return  nothing.  A  "  hardy  fighter  "  he  was  es- 
teemed, albeit  his  prowess  was  eclipsed  by  his 
more  peaceful  virtues.  This,  however,  should 
be  returned  in  kind.  He  would  make  no  attack 
to  be  put  in  the  wrong,  arrested,  perhaps,  after 


The  Casting  Vote.  263 

the  Colbury  interpretation  of  assault  and  battery. 
But  Walter  had  many  a  weak  point  in  his 
armor,  glaringly  apparent  now  to  the  once  fond 
brother. 

Only  a  surly,  bitter  word  he  had  for  greeting 
to  the  few  neighbors  whom  he  met,  and  who 
went  their  way  in  the  conviction  that  his  brother 
had  lost  his  election ;  for  none  ascribed  any 
emotion  of  Justus  Hoxon's  to  his  own  sake. 

He  reached  in  the  evening  the  little  cabin 
where  the  padlock  hung  on  the  door,  and  the 
heavy,  untrodden  dust  of  the  drought  lay  with- 
out; and  so  it  was  that  the  old  days  when 
"  Fambly  "  had  struggled  through  their  humble 
experiences  came  back  to  him  with  that  incom- 
parable sweetness  of  the  irrevocable  past.  Hard- 
ships !  How  could  there  be,  with  fond  faith  in 
one  another,  and  in  all  the  world  !  Poverty  - 
so  rich  they  were  in  love !  Life,  after  all,  is 
more  than  meat,  and  there  is  no  hunger  like 
that  of  a  famished  heart.  He  reviewed  that 
forlorn,  anxious,  struggling  orphanage,  transfig- 
ured in  the  subtle  glow  of  regretful,  loving 
memory,  as  one  might  gaze  into  the  rich  glamours 
of  a  promised  land.  Alas,  that  our  promised 
land  should  be  so  often  the  land  we  made  haste 
to  leave  !  As  he  sat  down  on  the  step  he  saw 
the  ragged  cluster  of  children  troop  down  the 
road  from  twenty  years  agone,  almost  as  if  he 


264  The  Casting  Vote. 

actually  beheld  them,  himself  at  the  head.  He 
could  still  feel  their  plump  palms  clinging  to  his 
hand  at  the  first  suggestion  of  danger.  He  had 
led  them  a  right  thorny  path,  each  to  a  success- 
ful goal.  And  now  could  he  turn  against 
"  Fambly  "  ?  Should  he  denounce  the  treachery 
of  one  of  the  little  group  that  he  could  see  hud- 
dling together  for  warmth  on  the  meagre  hearth- 
stone, while  outside  the  snows  of  a  long-vanished 
winter  were  a- whirl  ?  Should  he  pull  down  the 
temple  on  Walter's  success  —  the  pride  of  them 
all?  He  remembered  how  his  sisters,  with  that 
feminine  necessity  of  hero-worship  in  their  un- 
taught little  hearts,  had  clung  about  Walter. 
He  remembered  too  that  almost  every  thought 
of  his  own  life  had  been  given  to  this  man,  who 
had  ruthlessly  and  secretly  robbed  him  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  him,  and  in  such  wise  as  to 
hold  him  up  to  ridicule,  a  scoffing  jest,  a  very 
good  joke !  So  Walter  considered  it,  and  so 
doubtless  would  all  Colbury.  It  would  have 
surprised  Walter,  but  his  sometime  mentor's 
cheek  burned  with  shame  for  him. 

No  ;  the  claims  of  "  Fambly  "  were  paramount. 
He  gave  it  precedence,  as  in  the  old  days  he  had 
denied  himself  when  "  Fambly  "  dined  at  the 
skillet,  and  the  bone  and  the  broken  bit  he  took 
for  his  share.  He  could  not  bring  discredit 
upon  it.  He  would  not  lift  his  hand  against  it. 


The  Casting  Vote.  265 

It  was  the  object  of  a  lifelong  allegiance,  and  he 
only  marveled  that,  since  the  uses  of  the  loyalty 
were  at  an  end,  the  empty  life  should  go  on. 
He  gazed  mechanically  at  the  padlock  as  he  sat 
there  with  his  dreary  thoughts,  remembering 
with  what  different  heart  he  had  turned  the  key. 
Ah,  Happiness  —  to  pass  out  from  a  door,  and 
knock  there  never  again  ! 

He  rose  at  last,  his  burden  adjusted  to  his 
strength.  He  had  never  worked  for  thanks. 
It  hardly  mattered  to  him  now  how  his  efforts 
were  requited.  And  though  he  encountered 
treachery  at  close  quarters,  —  of  his  own  house- 
hold, —  it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  be  a  traitor  to 
"Fambly  "  and  its  obvious  interests.  So  he  too 
went  out  from  the  door  in  the  footprints  of 
Happiness  —  likewise  to  return  no  more. 

Walter  Hoxon  had  not  altogether  ill-gauged 
the  general  proclivity  to  deem  all  fair  in  love 
or  war.  He  was  accounted  to  have  performed 
something  of  a  feat  in  the  clever  outwitting 
of  his  unsuspecting  rival,  and  to  the  minds  of 
the  many  there  was  an  element  of  the  romantic 
in  this  hasty  wedding  of  the  damsel  of  his  choice 
almost  under  the  eyes  of  the  expectant  bride- 
groom. He  had  added  to  the  prestige  of  success 
in  politics  the  lustre  of  valiance  in  the  lists  of 
love,  and  he  encountered  laughing  congratula- 


266  The  Casting  Vote. 

tions  from  his  friends  and  political  supporters, 
which  served  much  to  reassure  him  and  to  ban- 
ish a  vague  and  subtle  anxiety  as  to  public 
opinion  that  had  begun  to  gnaw  at  his  heart. 
They  all  seemed  to  think  he  had  done  a  very  fine 
thing,  and  that  it  was  a  very  good  joke,  and  he 
was  soon  most  jauntily  of  their  persuasion.  He 
could  not  know  that  here  and  there  people  were 
saying  to  one  another,  aside,  the  words  he  had 
feared  to  hear  in  reproach  —  that  the  swain 
whom  he  and  his  lady-love  had  conspired  to  dupe 
was  his  brother,  who  had  done  everything  for 
him  —  had,  as  a  mere  child,  encountered  and 
vanquished  poverty,  had  clothed  and  educated 
this  man  and  his  sisters,  had  served  his  every  in- 
terest with  a  perfect  self-abnegation  all  his  life ; 
that  it  was  his  brother  who  had  won  his  election, 
being  a  man  of  much  influence  and  untaught 
eloquence,  and  of  great  native  tact  and  intelli- 
gence ;  that  the  secrecy,  the  conspiracy,  and  the 
publicity  of  the  dramatic  denouement,  in  lieu 
of  an  open  rivalry,  rendered  it  a  case  of  the 
most  flagrant  ingratitude,  and  argued  much  un- 
worthiness  in  the  people's  choice. 

But  suddenly  a  doubt  began  to  prevail  as  to 
whether  he  were  the  people's  choice.  In  the 
returns  from  the  farthest  districts,  not  heard 
from  till  quite  late  in  the  day,  in  which  Walter 
Hoxon  had  felt  secure,  Quigley  developed  unex- 


The.  Casting  Vote.  267 

pected  strength.  In  great  perturbation  Walter 
swiftly  patrolled  the  town  in  search  of  Justus ; 
unprecedented  developments  were  imminent,  and 
he  hardly  dared  face  the  emergency  without  his 
valiant  backer  at  hand.  Justus  had  disap- 
peared as  utterly  as  if  the  night  had  swallowed 
him  up. 

"  Consarn  the  tormentin'  critter  !  "  exclaimed 
Walter,  mopping  his  brow  as  he  stood  at  the 
little  gate  of  Mrs.  Elmer's  yard,  returning 
thither,  after  his  fruitless  searching,  in  the  hope 
of  finding  his  brother  among  the  familiar  faces. 
"  Mad  ez  a  hornet,  I  '11  be  bound,  an'  lef '  me  in 
the  lurch.  Beat  arter  all,  I  '11  bet !  " 

Theodosia  listened,  tremulous,  aghast.  All 
the  fine  prospects  that  had  seemed  so  near,  into 
whose  charming  perspectives  she  might  in  an- 
other moment  have  stepped  as  actually  as  upon 
that  path  to  the  gate,  were  drawing  away,  dis- 
solving, as  tenuous,  as  intangible,  as  those  morn- 
ing sunlit  mists  shifting  and  rising  from  before 
the  massive  blue  ranges  of  the  Great  Smoky 
Mountains,  and  dallying  with  the  distances  into 
invisibility. 

"  I  tole  ye  ag'in  an'  ag'in  ye  bes'  not  be  too 
sure,"  she  said,  a  sob  in  her  throat,  with  an 
obvious  disposition  to  wreak  her  disappoint- 
ment upon  him. 

It  was  crushed  in  the  moment. 


268  The  Casting  Vote. 

He  turned  a  frowning  face  full  upon  her. 
"  Hold  yer  jaw  !  "  he  cried  violently.  "  Ef 
't  war  n't  for  you-uns  I  'd  hev  Justus  hyar,  an'  I  '11 
be  bound  he  could  fix  it.  Ye  miserable  deceit- 
ful critter  —  settin'  two  own  brothers  at  logger- 
heads !  I  '11  take  no  word  from  you-uns  — 
sure!" 

He  shook  his  head  indignantly  at  her,  clapped 
his  hat  upon  it,  and  turned  desperately  away 
as  a  man  came  running  up.  "  Have  ye  found 
Justus  ?  "  Wat  exclaimed. 

"  Justus  ?  No.  But  they  say  it  *s  a  tie  —  a 
tie ! " 

For  the  news  was  already  bruited  throughout 
the  town  —  in  a  ferment  of  excitement,  because 
of  the  closeness  of  the  contest  —  that  the  two 
candidates,  racing  gallantly  neck  and  neck,  had 
come  under  the  wire  together  with  not  so  much 
as  the  point  of  a  nose  to  distinguish  the  winner. 

Walter  stood  still  for  a  moment,  his  dark 
eyes  dilated  with  eagerness  and  anxiety.  Sud- 
denly he  leaned  back  against  the  gate-post  with 
a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  relaxation. 

"Then  it's  all  right,"  he  exclaimed  breath- 
lessly. "  The  coroner 's  my  frien',  ef  I  ain't  got 
another  in  the  worl'.  Old  Beckett  will  stan'  by 
me,  sure  !  " 

As  the  coroner  held  the  election,  the  sheriff 
himself  being  a  candidate,  it  was  his  duty  to 


The  Casting  Vote.  269 

give  the  casting  vote.  This  prolongation  of  the 
jeopardy  of  the  result  heightened  the  popular 
interest,  the  more  as  the  officer  did  not  imme- 
diately decide  upon  his  action  in  the  matter. 

"  I  want  a  leetle  time  ter  think  it  over  —  a 
leetle  time  fur  the  casting  vote,"  he  said,  as  he 
gnawed  at  a  plug  of  tobacco,  then  crossed  his 
ponderous  legs  while  he  leaned  back  in  a  splint- 
bottomed  chair  in  the  register's  office. 

He  was  a  tall,  portly  man,  with  a  large,  round 
imperious  face,  thatched  heavily  with  iron-gray 
hair.  He  wore  no  beard,  and  was  dressed  in 
brown  jeans,  which  imparted  a  certain  sallow- 
ness  to  his  dark  complexion.  He  had  small 
gray  eyes,  at  once  shrewd  and  good-natured,  but 
his  manner  was  bluff,  imperative,  and  all  the 
judiciary  of  the  State  could  hardly  have  com- 
passed an  expression  of  a  greater  sense  of  im- 
portance. 

He  was  observed  with  much  interest  by  a 
number  of  men  who  lounged  about  the  room. 
A  tense  sub-current  of  curiosity  underlay  the 
suspense  natural  to  the  occasion,  for  it  was  well 
known  to  the  gossips  about  the  court-house  that 
he  and  the  sheriff  had  not  been  on  the  best  of 
terms ;  when  their  official  functions  had  happened 
to  bring  them  into  contact  they  had  clashed 
smartly,  and  the  county  rang  with  their  feuds. 
His  course  was  obvious  to  all  —  his  hesitation 


270  The  Casting  Vote. 

only  an  affectation,  lest  a  too  vehement  ani- 
mosity be  imputed  to  him. 

"  Poor  Quigley's  cake  is  dough,"  observed 
one  of  the  incumbent's  friends  in  an  undertone, 
standing  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  gaz- 
ing through  the  long  dark  vista  of  the  hall  out 
of  the  door  into  the  sunlight's  glow,  as  it  fell 
upon  the  few  houses  and  the  great  stretch  of 
arable  land  beyond.  A  horizontal  shadow  of  a 
cloud  lay  at  its  extremity,  as  definite  as  a  ma- 
terial barrier,  and  far  above  it  rose  tiers  of  green 
and  bronze  hills  like  a  moulding  to  the  base  of 
the  lapis-lazuli-tinted  mountains. 

"  This  never  happened  in  this  county  before," 
said  the  register,  glancing  up  from  a  big  book  in 
which  he  was  copying  the  doings  of  "  the  party 
of  the  first  part "  and  "  the  party  of  the  second 
part  "  —  the  familiar  spirits  of  his  den. 

"  Why,  no !  "  exclaimed  the  coroner,  with  a 
pleased  laugh.  "  To  me  the  castin'  vote  is  ez 
^?Aee-nomenal  an'  ez  astonishiii'  ez  the  comet." 
He  chuckled  —  the  fat  man's  unctuous  laugh. 
"  Something  like  the  comet,  too  :  it  has  its  place 
in  the  legal  firmament,  but  't  ain't  often  neces- 
sary to  use  it." 

"  That  war  a  toler'ble  funny  tale  'bout  the 
comet  they  air  a-tellin'  roun'  town,"  observed  a 
young  countryman  pausing  in  front  of  the  two, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  on  the  back 


The  Casting  Vote.  271 

of  his  red  head,  a  wide  grin  of  enjoyment  on 
his  freckled  face,  —  "  about  the  feller  that  bed 
his  sweetheart  a-courtin'  out  hyar  in  the  yard 
last  night,  an'  tuk  ter  lookin'  at  the  comet 
through  the  spy-glass,  an'  whilst  he  war  busy 
a-star-gazin'  the  comet,  another  feller  stepped 
up  with  the  Squair,  an'  married  his  gal  —  ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

Beckett  looked  up  interested.  Incongruously 
enough  a  vein  of  romance  ran  through  the  mas- 
sive strata  of  conceit,  and  intolerance,  and  vain- 
glory, and  pertinacity,  and  pugnacity  that  made 
up  the  very  definite  structure  of  his  nature. 
He  dearly  loved  a  lover.  He  was  as  sentimental 
as  a  girl  of  eighteen,  and  he  melted  instantly 
into  suavest  amenities  at  the  first  intimation  of 
a  love-story  in  abeyance. 

"  I  ain't  heard  'bout  that,"  he  said  in  a  mel- 
lifluous voice.  "  Ye  know  I  was  tucked  up  in 
yonder  "  —  he  jerked  his  thumb  over  his  shoul- 
der — "  tendin'  to  the  countin'  of  the  votes, 
bein'  returnin'-officer.  Who  married  ?  " 

"  Why  this  hyar  Walter  Hoxon  —  him  ez  is 
candidate  fur  sher'ff,"  said  the  red-haired  inter- 
locutor, widening  his  grin. 

Beckett  elevated  his  heavy,  grizzled  eyebrows. 
A  sudden,  secret,  important  look,  as  if  he  were 
colloguing  with  some  one  vanquished  in  argu- 
ment, crossed  his  face.  He  nodded  once  or 


272  The  Casting  Vote. 

twice,  but  only  said  acquiescently :  "  Ah  —  ha ! 
Ah  —  ha!  Toler'ble  enterprisin'.  Run  fur 
office  an  git  married  'lection  day." 

He  smiled  broadly.  Any  innovation  on  the 
stereotyped  methods  appealed  to  him  with  the 
grace  and  relish  of  a  new  metre  to  a  neophytic 
rhymester. 

"  Wat 's  a  nice  boy,  a  mighty  good  boy,  too," 
he  went  on,  with  his  oily  voice  quite  soft.  "  Run 
mighty  well  in  this  'lection,  too.  He  's  a  mighty 
smart,  good  boy." 

He  nodded  his  big  head  approvingly.  "  I 
don't  wonder  he  cut  the  t'other  feller  out. 
Mighty  fine  feller  Wat  is." 

"  Well,  now,"  said  the  register,  suddenly  put- 
ting his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  leaving  the 
party  of  the  first  part  and  the  party  of  the 
second  part  to  their  own  devices,  "  I  'm  blest  if 
I  don't  think  Justus  is  worth  a  hundred  of  Wat, 
lock,  stock,  an'  barrel." 

Once  more  the  grizzled  eyebrows  went  up 
toward  the  iron-gray  thatch  of  the  coroner's 
forehead.  "  Justus  f  I  'm  free  ter  say  I  dunno 
nobody  equal  ter  Justus.  I  hev  known  Justus 
sence  he  war  knee-high  ter  a  pa'tridge  —  the 
way  he  did  keer  fur  them  chil'n,  an'  brung  'em 
up  ter  be  equal  ter  anybody  in  the  Ian' !  An' 
smart  —  smart  ain't  the  word  fur  him  !  Ef  he 
hed  education  he  could  do  anything ;  but  he 


The  Casting  Vote.  273 

hed  ter  stan'  back  an'  let  the  t'other  chil'n  git 
it.  Whar  would  Wat  be  ef  't  war  n't  fur 
Justus  ?  " 

"  That 's  what  makes  me  say  't  was  a  mighty 
mean  trick  he  played  on  Justus,"  the  register 
broke  in. 

"  Who  ?     How  ?  "  demanded  the  coroner. 

"  Why,  Justus  was  the  t'other  feller.  Wat 
an'  the  girl  never  let  him  have  an  inklin'  of  it. 
They  just  fooled  him  along,  belie  vin'  she  was 
goin'  ter  marry  him.  An'  las'  night  when  it  was 
reported  all  over  town  that  Wat  was  elected, 
an'  Justus  took  time  from  electioneerin'  fur  his 
brother  to  breathe,  they  tolled  him  out  to  look 
at  the  comet,  an'  slipped  off  an'  married." 

The  man  of  sentiment,  with  the  election  in 
his  hand,  sat  looking  loweringly  about  him. 
His  satisfaction  was  wilted ;  his  fat  hung  flab- 
bily on  his  big  bones  ;  his  small  eyes  were  hard 
and  cold. 

"  Waal,"  he  said,  rising  at  last,  "  these  extry 
an'  occasional  opportunities  like  comets  an' 
castin'  votes  oughter  be  took  full  advantage  of 
—  full  advantage  of ;  no  doubt  about  that." 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  casting  vote  tipped 
the  scale  in  favor  of  the  incumbent. 

"  He 's  ez  hard-headed,  an'  tyrannical,  an' 
perverse,  an'  cantankerous  a  critter  ez  ever 
lived,  with  no  feelin's,  nor  softness,  nor  perlite- 


274  The  Casting  Vote. 

ness  in  him  —  but  he  's  a  square  man.  He  '11 
do  the  fair  thing  —  every  time,"  the  coroner 
said  in  explanation. 

And  so  he  braced  himself  for  another  term  of 
official  wrangling. 

Poor  Theodosia  !  She  never  forgot  that  re- 
turn home,  through  all  the  dust  of  the  drought 
and  the  glare  of  the  midsummer  sun.  Even  to 
herself  her  nature  seemed  too  small  for  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  various  anguish  which  she  was 
called  upon  to  endure.  The  sharp  alternations 
of  certainty  and  doubt  which  she  had  under- 
gone seemed  slight,  seemed  naught,  in  com- 
parison with  the  desolate  finality  of  despair, 
the  fang  of  hopeless  regret,  and  the  dread  of 
the  veiled  future  with  which  she  had  made  no 
covenant  of  expectation  or  preparation,  that 
preyed  upon  every  plodding  step  as  she  went. 
Her  anxiety  as  to  the  wisdom  of  her  course  was 
not  assuaged  by  the  aghast  dismay  of  her  mo- 
ther's face,  when  she  reached  the  little  house 
overlooking  the  encircling  mountains,  —  as  still, 
as  meditative,  as  majestically  unmoved,  as  if  no 
more  troublous  world  existed,  —  and  unfolded 
the  story  of  her  visit  to  Colbury.  She  felt  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  how  Justus  Hoxon's 
friend  merited  his  confidence.  Her  mother  had 
no  reproaches,  no  sarcasms,  no  outbursts  of 


The  Casting  Vote.  275 

grief.  She  addressed  herself  to  the  support  and 
the  comforting  of  her  daughter,  but  with  so  evi- 
dent a  hopelessness  and  an  expectation  of  bitter 
things  to  come  that  the  girl  burst  out  sobbing 
afresh. 

"  D'  ye  think  Wat  air  so  wuthless  ez  all  that !  " 
The  discipline  of  life  began  for  her  here.  As 
the  price  of  his  political  defeat,  Walter  had 
scant  relish  for  the  triumph  he  had  scored  in 
love.  He  was  surly,  taciturn,  or  else  loud  with 
reproaches  and  criminations,  which  grew  more 
vehement  -and  contumelious  if  she  answered, 
seeking  to  exculpate  or  justify  herself ;  and  if 
she  were  silent,  her  submission  seemed  to  ex- 
asperate him  and  to  develop  a  crafty  inge- 
nuity in  finding  fault.  He  brooded  grimly  on 
his  brother's  probable  exultation  when  he  should 
return  and  hear  the  news  of  the  casting  vote. 
To  fortify  himself  for  the  encounter  he  spent 
much  time  at  the  still,  and  his  drunken,  reason- 
less wrath  was  even  more  formidable  to  the 
object  of  his  displeasure  than  his  sober,  surly 
resentment  against  her  as  the  cause  of  all  his 
disasters.  But  Justus  did  not  come.  Walter 
began  to  doubt  if  the  news  of  the  untoward  re- 
sult of  the  election,  in  which  he  had  spent  all 
his  energies,  had  reached  him.  He  also  be- 
gan to  desire,  contradictorily  enough,  that  his 
brother  should  know  it.  For  although  Justus 


276  The  Casting  Vote. 

must  needs  recognize  it  as  a  mortal  blow  to 
his  dearest  foe,  it  had  the  capacity  of  doing 
much  execution  in  its  recoil.  Justus  had  had 
the  election  so  greatly  at  heart ;  he  had  strug- 
gled, and  planned,  and  managed  with  such 
preternatural  activity  and  tact  and  energy  from 
the  first,  that  it  would  smite  him  hard  to  know 
that  it  was  all  in  vain.  And  then  his  vicarious 
ambitions,  his  pride,  his  pleasure,  in  the  eleva- 
tion of  "  Fambly  "  !  Walter  cast  about  f  utilely 
for  an  assurance  that  he  might  have  the  satis- 
faction of  reducing  all  this.  He  knew  that  Jus- 
tus, in  his  mistaken  certainty  of  the  result  of  the 
election,  would  not  ask  for  information,  and  that 
he  could  not  read  the  newspapers.  A  letter  — 
even  if  there  were  any  remote  presumption  as 
to  his  address  —  would  lie  indefinitely  in  the 
mail,  and  find  its  way  at  last  to  the  Dead  Letter 
Office. 

Walter  realized  after  a  time  that  Justus  in- 
tended to  return  no  more — the  woman  he 
loved  was  his  brother's  wife.  Justus  had  prob- 
ably put  the  breadth  of  the  State  between  them, 
Walter  sneeringly  concluded. 

He  made  haste  to  quarrel  with  his  wife's 
mother,  in  his  perverse  relish  of  aught  that 
might  give  Theodosia  pain,  and  they  quitted 
her  home  and  took  up  their  residence  in  the 
house  in  which  Theodosia  had  once  expected  to 


The  Casting  Vote.  277 

live,  the  scene  of  the  early  struggles  of  "  Fam- 
bly." 

Theodosia's  beauty  could  hardly  be  said  to 
fade ;  it  disappeared  in  the  overblowing.  She 
grew  very  fat  and  unwieldy  as  the  years  wore 
on  ;  her  face  broadened,  her  florid  complexion 
degenerated  into  a  mottled  red  and  purple.  She 
was  no  prettier  than  her  mother  had  been  when 
she  ridiculed  her  lover's  eulogy  of  her  mother's 
spiritual  beauty.  She  had  a  hard  life  with  her 
drunken,  idle,  slothful  husband,  who  habitually 
imputed  to  her  agency  every  evil  that  had  ever 
befallen  him,  holding  it  to  excuse  him  from  all 
exertion  to  better  their  very  poor  estate,  and 
whose  affection  had  been  easily  kindled  by  her 
beauty  and  as  easily  extinguished. 

Justus,  self  -  exiled  from  the  mountains, 
tramped  the  valley  roads,  hardly  caring  whither, 
and  drifted  finally  to  the  outskirts  of  one  of  the 
large  manufacturing  towns  of  Tennessee.  He 
worked  for  some  seasons  doggedly,  drudgingly, 
on  a  farm  near  by,  but  found  a  sort  of  entertain- 
ment in  the  sights  and  sounds  within  the  city 
limits,  as  having  no  association  with  the  past 
which  his  memory  dreaded.  He  prospered  in 
some  sort,  for  although  he  was  ignorant  of  all 
methods  of  skilled  labor,  fidelity  is  an  art  with 
so  few  proficients  that  friends  and  opportunities 


278  The  Casting  Vote. 

were  not  lacking.  His  progress  was  somewhat 
hampered,  however,  despite  his  evident  intelli- 
gence, by  a  doubt  which  prevailed  concerning 
his  mental  balance.  He  was  often  observed  to 
stand  and  gaze  smilingly,  fondly,  after  any 
group  of  ragged,  dirty  children  ;  he,  although 
of  the  poorest,  was  profuse  in  gratuities  to  any 
callow  beggar  who  did  not  know  enough  of  the 
world's  ways  to  expect  nothing  of  such  as  he,  as 
did  the  older  ones.  He  could  not  read,  but  he 
bought  newspapers  from  the  smallest  of  the 
guild  of  newsboys,  and  meditatively  turned  the 
sheets  in  his  hand,  and  then  softly  and  slowly 
tore  them  to  bits.  And  these  things  created  a 
doubt  of  his  sanity,  for  who  could  know  how 
"  Fambly  "  looked  at  him  from  the  pinched  face 
of  every  poor,  and  cold,  and  hungry  child  ? 

At  last,  despite  this  unsuspected  drawback, 
a  congenial  occupation  came  to  him.  He  was 
night  watchman  at  a  great  factory,  and  as  he 
paced,  all  solitary,  back  and  forth  in  the  yard, 
he  was  wont  to  note  the  stars  as  the  infallible 
seasons  brought  them  into  place  ;  and  he  began 
to  remember  their  names,  and  to  trace  the 
strange  configuration  of  the  constellations,  and 
to  con  again  the  stories  woven  into  their  shining 
meshes  which  he  heard  at  the  time  that  the  great 
comet  blazed  among  them. 

And  this  is  his  never  failing  interest  —  dark 


The  Casting  Vote.  279 

summer  nights,  when  the  Galaxy  opens  a  broad 
avenue  of  constellated  light  across  the  heavens, 
seeming  a  veritable  road,  as  if  it  might  be  the 
way  to  God's  throne,  beaten  hard  and  bright 
by  the  feet  of  saints  and  martyrs ;  or  when  the 
moon  is  full,  and  autumnal  glamours  reign,  and 
only  the  faint  sidereal  outlines  prevail ;  or  when 
winter  winds  are  high,  and  the  snow  lies  on 
slanting  roofs,  and  spires  gleam  with  icicles, 
and  Orion  draws  his  scintillating  blade ;  or 
when,  all  bedight  in  scarlet,  "  Arcturus  and  his 
sons  "  are  guided  into  the  vernal  sky. 


